


Living History

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Absolutely Anti-Canon!, Crossover, Future Fic, M/M, Star Trek: TNG Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-28
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Two 24th century Enterprise officers study the missions of NX-01 on the holodeck.  The reason for their interest? The greatest love story in Starfleet history. Crossover with Star Trek: The Next Generation (sort of!)





	1. Session One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** They're Paramount's toys to make money from. I borrow them for pleasure alone.  
>  I _loathed_ the final episode, to the extent it's still known not as TWTV but TWTA (That Was The Abomination). I refuse to endure it again, even for the purposes of research. Thus, the chapters relatng to it may be, to put it mildly, fudged.  
>  This is an Enterprise/TNG crossover in so far as that damnable episode was. Rant over!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip Tucker has an apology to make. He also has an audience...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during/just after 3.20 "The Forgotten"

"Lieutenant Reed is in Jeffries Tube 12 Alpha, Commander." Ensign Tanner glanced up from his console close to the armoury door, the friendly grin freezing on his lips as he took in the newcomer's fiercely determined face. "Climb in through the open hatch there and just follow the cussing."

"Trouble?" Tucker didn't need to ask. Malcolm Reed didn't dip into his extensive vocabulary of _traditional nautical language_ often, but when he did, even the most hardened blasphemer could be excused a little blush.

"Aft cannon," Tanner stated, dipping his dark head. The Southerner grimaced.

"Heck, do I pick my moments," he muttered, squaring his shoulders. "Mind if I borrow your toolkit?"

The junior officer's mouth twitched. "You want to help, or figure you need a shield?"

"I'll decide when I get there." Like conspirators they grinned at each other and despite his considerable misgivings Tucker felt fresh warmth surge through him. Damn, they all loved that prickly, sarcastic little dynamo.

He clambered through the narrow passageway, careful to pull the hatch shut behind him. The little voice of common sense, which he always tried to ignore, was whispering this wasn't the time: that the least he would get for his trouble was a smart-assed remark, and the most... well, Phlox had room for one more in Sickbay, and there would be congenial company for however long it took his busted back to heal up.

He was careful to make as much unnecessary noise as possible, clanging his metal tool case against the bulkhead as the thread of irate English-accented cursing grew clearer. Surprising Malcolm was never a good idea, and saying his piece would be difficult with a pair of strong, skilful hands wrapped around his larynx. "Need a hand, Lieutenant?" he hollered, wincing against the false cheeriness of his tone.

The immediate answer was a grunt. "Need a large bladed weapon to wield in the armaments division next time we call at Jupiter Station, if that can be arranged!"

"She still kickin' back like a stung mule?"

"When _she_ is willing to kick at all. We should never have allowed those half-trained chimpanzees in here." Stripped down to his black undershirt, the sleeves of his jumpsuit loosely tied around his waist, Enterprise's Armoury Officer popped a dishevelled dark head up from behind the stubby bulk of the temperamental aft phase cannon. Oil smudged the peak of one chiselled cheekbone and a few curls of dark brown hair had fallen forward, plastering themselves against his damp brow.

Trip had never seen a man look so completely edible.

"Got a micro-calliper in there?" Reed asked irritably, leaving a smear of grease across his forehead in trying to shove the errant strands back. "I've got to go in through the neck, and I'm blowed if I'm shoving my fingers into the breach unprotected!"

"Um - yeah, guess so." Unsnapping the case, Tucker fumbled impotently for a few moments, feeling his face begin to burn under the younger man's impatient stare. "This do?"

"Thanks." Their fingers brushed on the instrument's handle and it was all he could do to bite off a whimper. "Hold the breach steady please, Commander."

"'kay." Formal, but friendly. Just like all their interactions of late.

It broke Trip's heart to tread on eggshells around his best friend. They'd been close - before the Xindi, before Lizzie, he had known it - to something so much richer, so much _better_ than easy friendship. Then he, the famous Chief Engineer of Earth's most advanced starship, had screwed it all up.

"Malcolm?"

"Hmm?"

Taking the distracted hum as encouragement, Tucker threw himself into the few simple words he had been rehearsing all day. "Ah owe y' an apology."

"Do you?" A quizzical eyebrow cocked over the cannon's maw at him. "There! Got you, you filthy little bastard! Sorry, Commander - just felt the firing pin reconnect there. What for?"

"Huh?" Keeping up with Malcolm Reed wasn't always easy. "Oh, right, yeah, the apology."

He tried to square his shoulders, hissing a half-curse when the left one connected with the solid plating of the tunnel. "What you said way back, about letting mahself mourn Lizzie; that she was special an' ah shouldn't pretend she was just another one of seven million... figure you were right. Ah blew mah top..."

"Trip." A warm hand slippery with grease curled around his wrist. "No apology necessary. Never was. I - I had no right to say anything."

"Malcolm, you're my friend and you wanted to help me. Ah - I want you to know I always appreciated that you were willing t' come with me - to stand by me when ah needed..."

"I've never been much good at that sort of thing." Reed hung his head, sharp teeth nibbling into his pink lower lip. Tucker shook his head.

"You're not good at takin' compliments, but you're about t' git one all the same." Tucker tried to keep his agitated voice down, conscious of the movement of crewmates in a busy corridor beyond the bulkhead; aware of the fragility of his own control. "You've been the best of friends to me, Malcolm Reed, and I repaid you by lashin' out. Ah never wanted - God knows I hated myself for it - but ah hurt you, and the way ah was raised, if you do someone wrong, you gotta go say sorry. So, that's what I'm doing right now, whether you wanna hear it or not."

"Commander, this isn't the time - or the place." The formality made them both wince despite the unusual softness of the Lieutenant's tone. "I - we're on duty, for goodness sake!"

"I know, but I couldn't leave it any longer to make things right with you, Mal. Not after - hey, didn't Phlox say anything about restricted duties after you got yourself roasted alive yesterday?"

" _Boiled_ , Commander, not roasted." Grey eyes met blue, warm humour sparkling in their depths. "And if he _did_ say something of that sort, well, I wasn't at my sharpest at the time. I certainly don't remember hearing it.â€

"You could've died out there, Lieutenant." Trip's voice softened. His hands came out of their own accord to grasp the unusually grimy one of his beloved friend. "Ah might never've had the chance to tell you..."

"Time and place, remember?" Reed made no move to free his captive limb. "I - there are a couple of bottles of Andorian Ale in my quarters if you've no plans for this evening. If you - well, if you want to talk about - whatever, we could do it more comfortably there after shift."

The Southerner's sudden grin filled the tight cavern with light. "I'd like that," he murmured, his pronounced accent fading in direct relation to the calming of any anxious expectation of a punch in the gut. "What time are you off?"

"I have a self-defence class with six of the science staff; should be finished by 2000 hours. Give me time to shower and change..."

"I'll be there." Their gazes locked, and Trip had neither the strength nor the will to break the hold. "Figure this baby's gonna behave herself now?"

"No reason why not. Back up a bit, will you, I don't intend to be sitting at the muzzle when Mister Tanner hits the big red button."

Tucker chuckled. "Better wipe the oil off your face, Lieutenant before you give any orders about firing this old lady. It's not _proper_ for an officer to look like one of those lil' old chimney sweeps on duty."

Reed snorted. "The day I start taking lessons on etiquette from you, Trip Tucker, is the day I wash my hands - and face - of Starfleet for good! Eddie! I think we've cracked it. Stand by to fire on my mark."

"Computer, freeze programme."

The figures crouched in the firing bay stilled, smiles still curling their mouths. Stepping out from the holographically enhanced shadows, Commander William Riker, First Officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise, grinned down at the petite woman nestling against his side. "So; what do you think of them now?"

"Cuter than I expected." Ship's Counselor Deanna Troi inched forward as if she still expected the petrified figures to react. "And Admiral Tucker's accent is broader than I recall from recordings. That may be nerves: approaching Admiral Reed at this time must have been painful for him."

"Guess so." Riker followed her, leaning in to examine the still features of the two men. "Or maybe over the years, living together took the edges off both their accents."

"Reed's doesn't seem different to me. Clipped, precise... very sexy." Deanna folded her hands and peeked up at him from beneath her long lashes. "You think it's an accurate recreation?"

"The simulation uses everything that's been written in the last two hundred years: their Starfleet profiles, data from their personal logs, biographies, Travis Mayweather's memoires and Admiral Archer's autobiography, news reports, interviews - not that either gave many, and never about their personal lives..." Riker shook his head. "Guess it's as close to how their relationship developed as we're ever going to get. You want to stop watching?"

Troi sighed, running her fingertips along the Reed hologram's famous cheekbones. "I'm still not sure what you're hoping to achieve by this, but - no. These are _the Admirals_ ; two of Starfleet's great heroes, and I'm getting to see how they fell in love."

"Deanna..." He had known the psychologist in her would be enthralled by the programme's potential, but the stubborn woman behind the professional's mask was making life difficult. Nothing new in that, he reflected gloomily. 

"I know, Will. The non-fraternization rules go back to the beginnings of Starfleet, but they managed to overcome it." 

"One of the great love stories of all time," Riker parroted. Troi thumped his arm. "Hell, Dee, if the early 'fleet could handle two senior officers aboard their most advanced vessel getting together, what's the big problem now? Haven't we learned anything in two hundred years?"

"As they're the only acknowledged couple to have served as senior officers together in Starfleet history, probably not." Though she strove for a light tone, Troi's dark eyes were shadowed when they rose to his intent face. "So: what next? Malcolm's quarters, twenty hundred hours?"

Riker's eyebrows shot up. " _Malcolm_ now, is he?"

Troi shrugged her slight shoulders. " _Admiral Reed_ seems a little formal now I'm watching the most important hours of his life playing out. Anyway, he's still a lieutenant: and a very attractive one at that."

Riker grunted. "I always imagined him being taller," he muttered. Deanna cocked her head at him.

"I suppose we always imagine our heroes are larger than life," she murmured, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. "I bet when they stand up, he's the perfect height to cuddle with Trip."

He hoped she didn't notice the tightness in his voice as he issued new instructions to the computer and the Jeffries tube melted around them.


	2. Session Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things really do need privacy. The future may not always respect that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers as per chapter one. Hencforward, all interruptons from the 24th century - except once the computer has frozen its programme - will be italicised and in brackets.

"Hey, Malcolm."

"Commander." Reed increased his ambling pace to a jog at the sight of the Chief Engineer loitering like a schoolboy outside the headmaster's office by his door. "Am I late?"

"Nope." Tucker swallowed convulsively, thrusting forward a package in both hands. "Since you're providin' the booze I figured I should bring something to eat. Chef said he hadn't seen you in the mess hall."

_("See, it was nerves," Troi whispered, plucking her companion's sleeve. "His accent is less pronounced; he's under control, but still a little tense.")_

"Mother-henning again, Trip?" Punching the entrycode into his door, Reed sniffed appreciatively. "Ham and pineapple pizza, perchance?"

"Yep." He stepped back, deliberately awaiting the invitation to enter the younger officer's immaculate personal space. "How was the session?"

"Trying." With a deft hand Reed flipped open the two bottles of Andorian Ale he had left standing on the desk in readiness for the engineer's visit. "You'd think after the year we've had people would appreciate the necessity of defending themselves, but these bloody scientists don't inhabit the same universe as the rest of us. Even Captain Archer takes personal security seriously these days."

"Three years too late, huh?" Biting into a steaming slice of pizza, Tucker perched on the edge of the narrow bunk, holding up a hand for the glass Reed offered. "C'mon, sit and eat, will ya? Nobody got hurt, did they?"

"Tempting targets though their flabby arses make after twenty minutes of whining and excuse-making - no."

"I know you wouldn't hurt them, Malcolm." Trip rolled his eyes, sinking back against the bulkhead as the smaller man folded himself onto the bunk at his side. "But they can get clumsy. You okay?"

"Not a scratch. Honestly, Trip, you of all people should know, I'm not as scrawny as I look."

"You're not scrawny. Just a tad underfed sometimes."

"Is that a hint, Mister Tucker?"

"Eat before I finish the whole plate for you, Mister Reed."

_("Oh, they're adorable," Deanna whispered, stuffing her fingers into her mouth. "Nervous flirting, dodging eye contact... they're even fidgeting! Oh, Will!")_

"Charming." With a shake of the head, Reed snatched the last pizza slice and bit in with a groan of pleasure. "Bloody hell, I'm hungrier than I thought!"

He swished his tongue around his well-shaped lips, sweeping away the last traces of tomato puree. Tucker's eyes almost popped. 

"Malcolm - what I said earlier," he stuttered. 

"Please, Trip. Don't."

"Malcolm..."

The Englishman stood sharply, pacing the breadth of the tiny cabin with his head high, hands clasped tightly at the small of his back. "Don't drag us through those days again, Trip, for crying out loud!" he exclaimed, determined to look anywhere but into the cerulean eyes that fixed with unnerving intensity on his face. "I - maybe if you'd needed something blowing to bits I would've been more useful. I'm hopeless when it comes to emotional things. You've probably noticed."

"I think you do j'st fine." A long arm shot out to seize him on the next pass, and with a strangled yelp the smaller man found himself crumpling onto the bunk half trapped beneath the American. "And ah wouldn't have made it through the last year without you, Malcolm Reed. Ah just wish..."

"It's okay." The moment his arms got free, Reed stopped struggling. Long, graceful hands lifted to frame Tucker's face, fingertips smoothing into the engineer's short blond hair. "I understand."

"Y' do?" 

"I think so." When the other man's hands came up to mirror the position of his Reed couldn't seem to stop himself arching into the touch. Welcoming it. "I thought of how I would have reacted if - if it had been Maddie, not Lizzie."

"You'd have raised all them damn force fields you carry around with y'," Trip murmured, recognition bringing a glow to his handsome face. "Hidden away in the armoury insisting you were fine 'til you created something that'd make the bastards pay for what they'd done."

"I internalise everything. You don't. Or - forgive me - you shouldn't."

"I tried."

"And it was crippling you." 

_(Deanna Troi wasn't sure whether her tears were making Reed's astonishing grey-blue eyes mist over, or whether the hologram itself were reflecting the original's emotion. Listening to the soft, insistent voice, she found herself wondering if it even mattered.)_

"Ah hurt you."

"You needd to lash out, and if the only way I could help was to play verbal punch-bag..."

"Dammit Malcolm, you shouldn't have let me do that to you!" Tucker's voice broke as he yanked himself upright. "And then I had t' go fallin' into bed with..."

"What you do with your free time is none of my business, Commander."

_("Ouch!" Riker whispered into her ear, making Deanna jump. "That hit a little too close to home, didn't it?")_

"But it hurt you. Hell, Mal, I don't even know why I did it!"

"Awfully nice bum?" The words were fired with the ferocious accuracy of a Reed pistol shot. Tucker winced.

"Your words, buddy. I care for T'Pol, don't git me wrong, but love her? As in, be in love with her? Hell, no!"

"You've certainly given a performance over the past few weeks, Commander." With a feline grace that belied the agitation in eyes and tone Reed stood, stalking to seek sanctuary behind his neatly laid-out desk. "The main topic of mess hall conversation has been your obvious fascination with alien interpersonal practises."

"Nobody ever called a Tucker discreet and lived," the taller man snarled back. He took a pace toward the Englishman, watched him back off toward the bulkhead and stopped dead. "Malcolm - please darlin' you've gotta forgive me, I wasn't thinkin' right! T'Pol was there; willing and goin' through troubles of her own..."

"We all were." Reed executed a military-precise double-take. " _Darling?_ "

"How could ah love the Vulcan Priestess, you great, beautiful thick-headed Limey, when ah was already ass over ears in love with you?"

The bellowed declaration faded into stunned silence. "Erm - Trip, I do believe you've rendered me rather speechless," Reed stammered, blushing as crimson as the astonished engineer. "I thought..."

"You thought ah was looking for a quick fuck an' run?" 

_("He didn't intend to come right out with that, did he?" Riker whispered, kicking himself for keeping his voice down. They're holograms, he reminded himself. They can't hear you!_

_"Sometimes panic is the best motivator for honesty,"Troi agreed, equally quietly.)_

"Just like last time," Tucker concluded, throwing himself into a chair with his head in his hands. "Hell, Malcolm, I can't blame y' but I never wanna run away from you again."

The Englishman stared, his habitually shuttered expression crumbling. "Then don't," he said, so softly the onlookers barely heard the words. Stealthy as a cat, he inched forward, lifting Tucker's wide-eyed, hopeful face between his hands. "Love."

_(Deanna Troi's gasp overlaid the Tucker hologram's. "Oh, Will!" she whispered. "That may be the bravest moment of Admiral Reed's life!")_

"You're not gonna throw me out the nearest airlock?" Tucker asked dubiously. Reed's eyes twinkled with repressed laughter.

"There _have_ been moments I've been tempted, Commander," he drawled, drawing out the title as if he were savouring its taste. "But... for my sins I went and fell in love with you, Charles Tucker the Third. I've often wished it were different..."

"Gawd Malcolm, ah'm so sorry for all ah've put y' through."

_("There's the accent again," Troi whispered, wiping her eyes against Riker's sleeve. "Every time he gets emotional, it thickens.")_

"Ah wantcha to know, ah've loved you through it all - hell, ah can't remember a time when ah didn't love y' - want you..."

"Shush love, it's okay." With an ease that belied his slight stature, Reed pulled the bigger man to his feet, strong arms wrapping securely around the stunned Southerner's trim waist. "I love you too; always have, probably always will. We can work the rest out later."

"You're too good for me, Mal. After what I did..."

"Trip Tucker if you don't stop this self-flagellation I swear I'll set about you with the blunt end of a bloody phase pistol!"

"Only you could say something like that with your arms around a guy, Mal." Tucker ducked his head, brushing his lips against the upturned ones of the smaller man. "Hot damn! I've missed you!"

"Right back at ya, darlin'."

_("He does a mean Tucker accent," Riker whispered.)_

"You're good, Loo-tenant, but I gotta say, I prefer y' being all proper and English at me."

"Whatever you want, Commander - and don't expect to hear that sentence often from now on!"

Ah know you better than that."

"Good."

_("Will, shouldn't we leave them alone - stop watching - now?" Troi asked, not taking her eyes from the kissing figures.)_

Gently Tucker manoeuvred the slighter man backward until the backs of his knees hit the bunk, toppling him over with the American's weight pressing him into the thin mattress. "Trip, this isn't a good idea," Reed gasped, slithering free with startling ease. "Not that I don't want you, love but really - we don't have a good track record when it comes to stumbling into bed together."

"This'll be different darlin'." He didn't press the Englishman, any more than Reed tried to put significant distance between them, content to lie side by side. "We're not drunk this time, and we've gotten the important words out first. I've missed the feel of you in my arms, Malcolm. Ain't nobody fits me like you do."

"I've missed you too." The admission didn't come easily, but the shooting star of exultation flashing over the blond's face made it worth the small effort. "I don't - oh bloody hell!"

"Whatever's on your mind, Mal, jus' tell me." A long index finger brushed across the frown furrows that creased Reed's brow, gently easing them away. "Long as you're not gonna tell me t' go throw mahself out the nearest airlock..."

"I was going to ask you to stay and cuddle for a bit, actually." Colour stained Reed's high cheekbones, bringing them into even greater prominence than usual. Tucker beamed.

"Nothing I'd like better, Handsome," he pledged, shuffling across the narrow space until they were squeezed together in a happy tangle of arms and legs. "We're gonna do it right this time, Malcolm, and if that means going slow a while, I can live with it. You're worth the wait."

"The wait had better not be too long." Gazing into the ocean blue eyes of the man he had despaired of ever holding again, Malcolm Reed looked like the happiest man in the universe. Stretching his neck, he placed a delicate kiss against Tucker's parted lips, their blissful sighs mingling on the still air. "Just because we're not shagging on the first date doesn't mean I'm going to play the repressed Englishman forever."

"You? Repressed?" Tucker wove his fingers into the thickness of his beloved's dark hair, holding his head still for another, deeper kiss. "Think I know you better 'n that by now, you snitty lil' dynamo."

"Computer, end program." Fascinated as she was, Deanna Troi had no intention of violating the privacy of Starfleet legends - even long-dead ones. The Spartan space of Reed's quarters faded into the stark yellow-and-black of the holodeck, the 24th century claiming them abruptly. She peered into the wide blue eyes of her immobile Imzadi and grinned.

"A little more than you expected to see, Will?" she asked sweetly.

Riker cleared his throat hard. "Little more than I expected to learn," he answered devoutly. "Do you think they really did - they were..."

"The program has access to their personal logs, as you said." It certainly wasn't in any of the authorized histories that the Admirals had enjoyed any liaisons before the Xindi mission, but then, Troi considered, it was a fact Starfleet tended to skim across even now, that the two heroes had fallen in love aboard the first Enterprise at all. "I'm beginning to understand why Captain Mayweather described them as _The Disaster Twins_. It looks like they did everything wrong on their way to something right."

Riker's blue eyes twinkled as he guided her out of the holodeck. "Sound like anyone you know?" he asked ruefully. "What next?"

"It's always been assumed the rescue of Ensign Sato had a big effect on Reed," the Betazoid remarked thoughtfully. "Perhaps..."

Solid weights lifted from Will Riker's shoulders. _Knew I'd get you with this, Dee_ , he thought smugly. "Sickbay, just after the rescue?" he suggested. She nodded.

Join us at the same time next week for the next gripping instalment!" she called over her shoulder, rushing less to her next appointment than to escape his too-knowing grin. This was an experiment she really ought to stop before it got any further out of hand.

But she couldnâ€™t.


	3. Session Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big moments of history. They're not always quite what they seem...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: 3.23 "Countdown; 4.20 "Demons"; 4.21 "Terra Prime"

_("He's been pacing up and down this hallway like an expectant father for the last five minutes," Riker muttered, watching the Tucker hologram turn on its heel and stalk back toward them by the sickbay doors again. "This isn't what I expected for the next big moment!"_

_Tro tutted. "Be patient, Will. Look, someone's coming out!")_

The instant the doors opened Tucker was there, peering down anxiously. "Aw, Mal!" he gasped, seizing the unresisting arm of his favourite Armoury Officer. "Darlin' I'm so sorry!"

It wasn't often one saw Malcolm Reed look fragile but in that moment he looked ready to crumble to dust. Glassy-eyed and ashen, he sagged against the cold grey corridor wall, thin, well-cut lips compressed against the flood of emotion he dared not release. "Hoshi's going to be fine," he jerked out at length. Tucker dropped the arm he had been clutching.

"Thank God for that!" he breathed, not taking his narrowed stare off the Englishman's stricken face. "But - I don't often say this, even when you do, but Malcolm - y' look like hell. What's wrong?"

Reed blinked, pushing himself off the bulkhead with an effort that made his locked knees quiver. "Hayes died five minutes ago," he said, completely flat. "We were talking - right to the end. Phlox - well, I suppose there's not much anyone could do for a shot right through the chest, is there?"

"Oh, Malcolm!" The smaller man was trembling, the too-pale skin pulled taut across the finely-carved planes of his blank face. Heedless of their surroundings, Tucker dragged him forward into a fierce hug that pressed the Englishman's face right into the hollow of his throat. "Oh babe I'm so sorry, that's gotta be really rough for you."

"Worse for him, don't you think?" The sarcasm fell flat, muffled as it was in his lover's embrace. Moving carefully, aware he would have no help, Tucker inched across the corridor, opening the door into Phlox's store room and gingerly easing the shuddering officer inside.

A large, capable hand swept the length of his spine while its twin smoothed gently through Reed's glossy dark hair. "It's okay darlin', let it out; I know," Tucker crooned, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he cuddled the broken man. "You fought like cats an' dogs, but you and Hayes respected each other, didn't you? It took a while, but you were on the same page in the end, and everybody benefitted because of that. Just cry it out, Mal, it's okay. I'm here. Ah love you, and ah'm here t' hold y' just as long as you need, okay?"

_("Accent," Troi whispered, her soft voice breaking on the word. "Oh, this is so sad!")_

"I'm sorry." Reed dragged himself back far enough to stare into the older man's worried face, his brittle composure cracking anew at the tenderness in Tucker's tear-bright eyes. "I'm supposed to be a senior officer for fuck's sake, and look at me! Sobbing in a store room because another poor bugger's just popped his clogs!"

"You wouldn't be the officer you are without your compassion darlin', and we all know it's there however hard y' try to hide it." Tucker's lips brushed the lieutenant's creased brow, smoothing some of the lines of grief and tiredness away. "And anyway, you're the one said to me, there's nothing wrong in tears."

"Unless one happens to be on duty." Stiffening his shoulders, Reed adopted his best parade-ground pose. "I must look a proper mess."

"Nothing a little water and a comb won't set right." Without asking the Southerner produced the second item from one of his many pockets, leaving Reed to return his rumpled hair to its standard duty neatness while he bustled to the sink, splashing cold water over a convenient cloth. His smile a little steadier the Englishman accepted it, scrubbing his swollen eyes like a small boy.

"Better?" he asked, the interlocking pieces of the officer's mask clicking audibly back into place. Tucker nodded. 

"Nobody'd suspect a thing," he promised, stooping down for a chaste peck on the cheek. "See y' later?"

"I have to speak to the MACOs, and then..."

"I know. You and the Cap'n are off on another of those crazy kamikaze missions before I know where to look for you." Trip blenched. "Jeez, I wish I could come with you!"

"Give me something else to fret about, would you?" With aching tenderness, Reed traced the contours of his lover's troubled face, tweaking the downturned lips up into an unwilling smile. "We've got through 'em before, Mistah Tuckah; I don't intend to spoil our good run now! Keep the ship in one piece and I'll bring the Captain and Hoshi back with me when it's over, okay?"

"'kay. And I'm gonna hold you to that."

They regarded each other in silence for a long moment _("As if they're memorising each other," Riker hissed, something in his gut pulling tight at the realisation)_. "In fact," the taller man added hoarsely, dragging his partner close for a long, tongue-filled kiss. "Ah'm just planning to hold y', if that's okay with you, Lootenant."

"Always, love." Reed's eyes were brighter when he pulled away, the symptoms of exhaustion and pain smoothed away. "Now I really _have_ to go to the MACOs. See you later, Commander!"

"Computer, save program and end."

The 22nd century shimmered out of existence once more. "They really did adore each other," Deanna Troi whispered, pressing her fingers to lips swollen from too much emotional biting. "I can see already why Starfleet didn't try and pry them apart. They wouldn't have allowed it."

"Have you seen enough of the program?" Riker wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when she shook her head.

"Same time next week, Commander?" she asked. He nodded. 

"Bring a whole packet of tissues," he advised drily. "The next scene - according to the logs - comes right after the Terra Prime incident. Baby Elizabeth's existence must have been a tough one for them to deal with."

Thick black lashes swept over shimmering obsidian eyes. "Will, I'm not sure... that's so personal we shouldn't..."

"If you don't want to come, Dee, it's not compulsory." He said it with confidence, knowing she would not - could not - leave them alone now.

He only hoped the program played out to the end the way he wanted. The Admirals had sprung their share of surprises on the future already.


	4. Session Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've read the history books of course, but there's only so much even the keenest Starfleet cadet can learn about his heroes from the official record...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: 4.20 "Demons" and 4.21 "Terra Prime". Mild for 1.05 "Unexpected" and 3.21 "E2".

The cabin was shadowy, lit only by the faint light of stars sliding beyond the small viewport. Above the melancholy wail of some soulful jazz could be discerned the sniffs and hiccoughs of a man in agony, and the faint, helpless murmurs of another, cradling the weeper in his arms, aching to give an impossible comfort. "She was so damn pretty, Malcolm," Trip Tucker choked out at last, burying the words against a solid wall of English muscle. "My little girl, even if she did have them damn pointy ears."

_("Wouldn't get away with a comment like that now," Riker whispered. Deanna thumped his arm.)_

"I know, love." Reed dropped a rain of kisses into the dark blond hair, tightening his grip as the other man's shudders intensified. "It's all right, you're allowed to grieve, just cry it out, that's right. I'm here."

"Figure I'm cursed with kids," Tucker mumbled, bringing up a sheet-white face to stare into his lover's. "First there was Ah'len's kid, then Lorian, now - now 'Lizabeth. Don't matter I never planned 'em, didn't even damn conceive 'em myself..."

"I know. And no child could do better than have you for a father." Long hands framed the American's contorted, tear-blotched features. "I - maybe one day we'll have better luck. Can't promise anything about conception, mind..."

"Malcolm... are you sayin' what I... baby you don't need to make any promises just to make me feel better!"

"I'm not. And how many times must I tell you: don't call me _baby_. It's bloody nauseating for a grown man!"

"Sorry." Despite the hostile tone the rebuke washed right off Tucker's shoulders. "Y - you'd consider having kids with me someday?"

"Not immediately, obviously," Reed replied evenly, keeping his partner's gaze on his by the simple expedient of holding his head firmly between both hands. "Enterprise isn't my idea of a nursery, even if the nearest reputable biolab wasn't a dozen star systems away. I'd want our own children, Trip, even if it does mean entrusting their development to one of Soong's hideous artificial wombs."

"Our kids," Trip repeated wonderingly. "You're sure - I mean, there's plenty of time and all, but... don't commit yourself just for my sake."

"I'm a bit more selfish than that would suggest, love." Malcolm planted a playful kiss on the end of his nose. "And - oh, bugger, my timing's atrocious! I've been pondering the idea for a while, knowing you'll want Charles Tucker the Fourth crawling around your workshops one day but I shouldn't have mentioned it now - not when you're mourning Elizabeth!"

"Malcolm." It was Tucker's turn to grasp a troubled face, all planes and sharp angles, between his palms. "I know you're not thinking of replacing her."

"Nothing and nobody could, love. Not because of what she was, but because she was yours."

_("He's always portrayed as such a cool, pragmatic military type," Deanna marvelled. "I never expected him to be so incredibly_ humane _as well!")_

"You ought to visit T'Pol, you know."

"What!"

_(Riker blurted the same startled exclamation as the Tucker hologram. "Will!" Deanna hissed, punching his arm)_

"However hard I try to understand it, she's the only one who actually _knows_ what you're going through." Reed shifted from his partner's loose grip, standing before him with his hands curled around the burlier man's tight shoulders. "And according to the Vulcan database itself the maternal instinct is possibly the most potent the species will acknowledge. She must be in hell, Trip and you're the only person she can admit it to."

"She's got her meditation candles. Ah need _you_ , Mal."

"And you have me. Always." Leaning in, he brushed his mouth across the furrowed golden brow. "But I do think you should go to her tonight."

"You're serious."

"Deadly. I think it'll do you good, quite apart from the support you'll give to her."

Trip's head cocked sweetly to one side. "More good than holding you?"

"Much as it pains me to say it - quite possibly." Despite being the shorter, slighter man, Reed was more than powerful enough to drag the unresisting American to his feet, winding his arms loosely around his trim waist until he was steady. "Go on. I'll be here when you get back."

Dark eyebrows quirked worriedly, a small crease forming between them as he frowned. "Always assuming you want me to be..."

_("Damn, he's insecure!" Riker murmured, astonished. "That's - not what I expected in the most dangerous man in Starfleet!")_

"You'd better be here, darlin'. We've got a future to plan. Heck, can you imagine, a kid with double Disaster Twin DNA?" Despite the joke it was plain Tucker was no less shaken by his lover's doubts. Reed nodded.

"In that case I'll just crawl into bed and wait, if it's all the same to you: and before that child's created, we'd better draft an alert to the galaxy."

Trip Tucker's sudden, watery grin could have outdazzled a dozen suns. "Sounds good," he murmured, husky as much with passion as the aftermath of hysteria. "Ah'll go talk to T'Pol feelin' stronger knowing I'll climb back into a nice, warm bed with a nice hot 'n' sexy Malcolm in it. You won't go fallin' asleep on me?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way to wake me if I do," Giving him a gentle shove toward the door, Reed turned back to pull down the bedcovers. Tucker darted back to give his bottom a playful pinch before exiting the room on a gust of outraged English laughter.

"Computer, save program and close," Riker called, feeling the familiar disorientation as the yellow and black tedium of the holodeck formed once more. "You okay, Dee?"

"Fine." Sniffing into her sleeve, Troi peeked up beneath tear-sparkling lashes. "But Will, can we have a happier instalment next time? It seems like every time we see them at least _one_ of them's in pain!"

"You're the psychologist. Isn't there some kind of weird theory about emotional turmoil developing relationships?" The Gods knew, Riker mused, their own had bumped along over enough of them! "Okay, okay, you win! I'll find a nice, happy, fluffy time next week if it means you're still interested?"

"Fascinated." She took his hand, lacing her dainty fingers through his as they left the holodeck. Anybody passing would have been struck by the extra dose of smugness in their First Officer's smile.


	5. Session Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not all doom and gloom. The eavesdroppers look in on a happier day in their heroes' lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers (mild) for the hated finale. Oh, and I've given Malcolm the promotion he deserved.
> 
> It's a minor bugbear of mine that British characters routinely adopted American pronunciation on US shows; understandable of course, but... This fact may be alluded to at a later date too

They were ambling down a narrow arcaded shopping street, their fingers entwined. Out of uniform and relaxed, Trip and Malcolm paused to peer into each shop window, their quiet laughter floating back to seep through their observers as thoroughly as the incessant drizzle falling from Kilorat's dark grey sky. 

_(Will Riker plucked the sleeve that stuck unpleasantly to his skin, his nose wrinkled. "Pity the happy, fluffy moment you wanted couldn't have had better weather," he groused. Deanna snickered._

_"Trip seems to agree with you," she murmured as the strong Southern accent drifted their way.)_

"Damn grey, wet, miserable place for a vacation!" the engineer grumbled, tucking his hand into the crook of his lover's arm. "Hell, what's the point of shore leave if you've gotta wear a coat all day?"

"The _point_ , my dear Commander Tucker, is that we are explorers; or do redneck explorers only venture out in hot weather?" Reed slanted him a teasing look, eyes sparkling. Trip chortled.

"Okay, point taken. Commander Reed."

_("His promotion came through their second year together, right?" Deanna whispered._

_"During the fifth year of their mission," Riker confirmed)_

"Hey, Hoshi! Jon! Phlox! Mind if we join y'?"

"Not at all." Captain Archer paused with one hand on the door of a snug, slightly shabby cafeteria, allowing Hoshi Sato to slide in from the cold under his arm while their Denobulan doctor scurried ahead, PADD and stylus already in his hands to record the next new experience. "The First Minister wasn't kidding when he told us it rains on Kilorat!"

"Malcolm seems to like it well enough," Tucker groused. The Englishman, ducking in after their Comms. Officer, grunted.

"Rather reminds me of home," he announced, shucking out of his heavy grey coat and hanging it over the back of a chair. Phlox frowned.

"Kilorat reminds you of Earth?" he asked, mobile features twisting. Hoshi goggled.

"In case you've not been looking the inhabitants have three arms and one green eye each!"

"The weather, Hoshi. It's all quite... English."

"What, damp, grey and cold?" Scowling at the drinks list as translated by the UT, Trip's mood seemed little improved by his partner's exasperated tut. "That's what it is, Lieutenant-Commander, and even you can't say different!"

"Trip, Malcolm's new rank is usually addressed as _Commander_ , you know," Archer chided, with a tentative smile to the eight-foot-tall waitress who loomed at his shoulder. "I'll have a cup of Mawantha, please. Hot chocolate sounds good today."

"I'd take a shot 'f bourbon but they don't have anything like that on offer."

"Make it five cups of Mawantha." The Captain forestalled further debate, opening up his wallet with a decisive snap. "They don't have alcohol here, Trip. Didn't he read the briefing notes, Malcolm?"

"That's the trouble with Trip, sir; too much faith in my diligence."

"Y' ain't never let any of us down, darlin'." A large hand folded over the one Reed had rested on the table. "And I _know_ it's just Commander, Cap'n, but I really miss hearin' Mal saying his old rank that clipped and sexy way."

"Trip!" the Englishman exclaimed, one eye on the avidly scratching stylus. Phlox almost bobbed out of his seat.

"Commander Tucker, may I ask - have you always considered Commander Reed's accent _sexy_ or is it just certain words that appeal?"

"He's not the only one," Hoshi announced, deepening her reticent friend's blush and exciting the doctor even more. "And I agree; I miss _Lieuwtenant Reed_ too."

"I'd have asked for demotion to ensign if I'd known that!" Malcolm protested, smothering his embarrassment as best he could in handing out the steaming mugs of sweet-smelling liquid brought by their alarming waitress. "And the old codger'd have my hide if he knew I'd settled for anything less correct that the Royal Navy-sanctioned _Leftenant_! Bloody hell, have you _no_ comprehension of discretion, Tucker?"

"After all this time, y' still need to ask? And ah still don't git why you think this place is anything like England!"

" _Ah don't git_ ," Reed drawled in his excellent facsimile of the Tucker accent, "How you can think differently, you ignorant bleedin' colonial, when you've never even been there!"

"Fair point, Trip," Archer murmured. The Southerner growled at him. "Still," the Captain added mildly, "I'm kind of intrigued to find out how Kilorat resembles England myself."

"It's _mild_ , Sir," Reed explained, sipping his sweet drink appreciatively. "Good grief, I've not had hot chocolate this good since the last time I visited Madeleine! Doesn't it make a change to find a planet where we neither fry nor freeze? And everywhere's so _green_."

"No wonder with all this damn rain," Trip muttered. Malcolm beamed.

"Exactly like England!" he finished triumphantly. "It's struck me so often, exploring these unfamiliar worlds, Sir; they're all so bloody extreme! Ice caps or deserts, never a simple, temperate climate. Until now."

"You're not fond of excesses, Commander?"

Reed slanted a wry grin the Denobulan's way. "After all the time I've spent in your sickbay, Phlox, I thought you might have worked that out!"

"The English - the British in general I guess," Archer observed, "aren't known for their love of extremes in anything, Doctor. But correct me if I'm wrong, Malcolm, but isn't the weather one of those things you're supposed to complain about?"

"Only when it's too hot or too cold, sir: or raining incessantly, or blowing a gale, and it's usually one of the four, so we've ample opportunity for a whinge," Reed replied cheerfully. 

_("He really has opened up," Riker murmured, watching the Englishman stretch to wipe a droplet of liquid from the corner of his lover's mouth._

_"They're both very different from my expectations," Troi admitted.)_

"You, complain? Ah don't believe it!"

"Only when there's a Y in the day, Commander."

"I've gotta say, Mal, it's kinda sexy the way you say that, too." Tucker winked at the beaming ship's physician, whose stylus was struggling to keep up with the volume of new information he was garnering on humanity's foibles. Reed arched a dark brow.

"I'll remember that for later, if you're very lucky," he suggested, coyly dropping his sparkling gaze. Their friends erupted with laughter as a hot blush raced up the engineer's golden neck.

"Dammit, Reed!" he sputtered, tears starting in his eyes as Archer pounded him helpfully on the back. "One of these days you're gonna stop surprising me!"

"Oh, I hope not." Utterly smug, the Englishman smirked at his partner, provoking a further gale of laughter around the table. "I don't think either of us is cut out for a dull life, after all."

_("He sure wasn't wrong about that," Riker muttered. "Computer, save program and close.")_

Deanna's eyes were sparkling as the holodeck solidified around them once more. "Same time next week?" she suggested unprompted. "That was wonderful, Will: seeing them so relaxed, flirting in front of their friends. They were a very happy senior staff, just as Starfleet claims."

"You thought they might not be?" He grinned at her enthusiasm, forestalling the inevitable question. "I figured we could go onto the last mission next."

Troi bit her lip. "I realise it's important, but do we have to? It's awful to see either one in pain, and that was..."

"All's well that ends well, Dee." He enveloped her small hands, giving her the benefit of his best pleading look. "And we've still not seen them in action. The rescue of Shran's daughter helped solidify Andoria's support for the Federation. It's historically significant."

The Betazoid shook her head. "And it's the galactic significance of the event you're interested in? Remember who you're talking to, Imzadi!"

"As if I could forget." Smugly smiling, Riker exited the holodeck ahead of her. He was looking forward to the next instalment already.


	6. Session Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riker wanted to see his heroes in classic action, didn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers 4.22 - yes, that one! As previously stated, I _detest_ the ep, so the events depicted here do not necessarily fit with canon. I like it better this way!

The small ship was registering all too clearly on sensors now. He'd just known - he'd warned Trip, for crying out loud - that everything was going too bloody well!

The bridge was deathly quiet as he reported, keeping his voice flat with an effort that wrenched his vocal chords. "Three intruders with the Captain and Commander Tucker."

T'Pol regarded him stonily from the captain's chair. "Weapons signatures?"

Reed checked again. "None."

"Here's hoping it stays that way," Travis Mayweather muttered from the conn. His two superior officers arched eyebrows at each other.

"Reed to all security personnel. We have a hostage situation, B deck, section 6." His voice was admirably controlled; he congratulated himself nobody would guess how thickly phlegm was coating his tightened throat. "Observation only. Take no action unless instructed by Commander T'Pol or myself."

"They must be heading toward Shran's quarters," Hoshi muttered, not lifting her eyes from the biosigns lighting up her display screen. "That ship of theirs wasn't as slow as we thought."

"Obviously not." T'Pol's voice sounded tight. "Status?"

"Standing off, Commander. Engines and weapons offline."

"They know we daren't try anything while they've got hostages." Travis stared ahead, obviously hoping they would not hear the catch in his voice. Reed shot him a sympathetic half-smile. 

"Ensign Sato, advise Sickbay we may have casualties," T'Pol instructed just as a sharp hiss erupted over the comm.

"Hall to the Bridge!"

"Report."

"One of the aliens has just knocked the captain out, Commander. Commander Tucker asked them to shut him up, and he's..."

"What in _Hell_..." The helmsman burst out.

Two pairs of eyes, one dark brown, the other steel-grey, locked. "Permission to alert Engineering, Commander?" Reed requested, gripping the sides of his console so hard his knuckles cracked. The Vulcan lifted a fine eyebrow.

"You believe Commander Tucker is about to do something rash?" she enquired. Reed shrugged.

"As he's just invited an alien intruder to knock the Captain's lights out..." he murmured. Hoshi bit off a hysterical giggle.

"Sorry," she muttered. 

T'Pol didn't even acknowledge her. "Proceed, Commander Reed," she instructed, turning her gaze back to the stubby and battered alien vessel hanging ominously close to Enterprise.

Reed needed no second telling. "Bridge to Engineering," he hissed. 

"Kelly, Sir."

His tight features relaxed at the sweet, steady voice. If Trip wasn't available to answer a hail, Jennifer Kelly was a reliable substitute despite her lowly rank. "Crewman, I want you to monitor the power couplings between B deck, section 6 and the guest quarters," he rapped out, knowing they were all watching, waiting for him to give a clue. He didn't care. Trip's probable plan had formed in his mind in all its ghastly stupidity, and cute, sensible Jenny Kelly was his only hope of averting a bloody, char-grilled disaster. "Somebody's likely to try and overload them in the next - three minutes. If you see anything unusual, reroute seventy per cent of the power elsewhere."

"Where to, Sir?"

" _Anywhere_ , Crewman, if you don't want promotion on the back of a fried Chief Engineer." The words were humorous, but the tone was deadly sober, and even as he spoke them an Arctic chill ripped down the Englishman's spine. Hoshi spun in her seat, wide-eyed horror transfiguring her pretty face.

"You think he's going to..."

Reed nodded. "It's what I would do," he said simply. " _If_ I were as bloody reckless as Trip, of course. Waffle about bypassing the main transporter or knocking out communication, security protocols or something, and then..."

_("How well he understood him!" Deanna breathed, leaning forward to brush the oblivious figure's cramped shoulder. "That's exactly what Trip is doing at this moment!"_

_"Starfleet's finest," Riker reminded her, giving her a gentle tug back. Troi frowned at him.)_

"Bridge!" Kelly's hail sounded sharp as a pistol shot, and Reed was not alone in jerking as if he'd been struck. "Junction 12, C Deck; I'm rerouting power to the phase cannon now!"

"Smart choice," they heard somebody mumble before all Hell broke loose.

Security yelled for instruction as T'Pol ordered Phlox from his sickbay and Kelly's engineering commentary rose in a soaring descant over the din. Reed was out of his seat before the Vulcan could even glance his way, phase pistol in hand as he launched himself at the turbolift. 

He was trembling by the time it deposited him on the right deck, his legs so weak he found himself gripping the cold passageway wall as he staggered toward the acrid stink of burning cable. Voices drifted through the blue smoke, tones his subconscious identified as familiar, sparing his cognisant mind from worrying about anything but the charred mess he was about to discover. "Dear God, let him be all right," he whimpered, his vision blurring. "Should've cut eighty fucking percent! Doctor!"

Four security staff were standing over the three flattened aliens, rifles pointed at their blackened heads. Malcolm spared them a fleeting glance, the officer in him needing to verify the absence of threat before he tumbled onto his knees beside the Denobulan, half hidden inside an opened alcove where the burned-out ends of two high-powered cable hung, still spitting like wounded dragons. 

Trip's tranquil face was blackened over blisters, his hands a mess, all bloodied and peeling ribbons of flesh. Reed leaned forward, gently brushing his mouth across the smooth, smoky brow. "Doctor?" he repeated hoarsely.

"Help me get him to Sickbay." Phlox urged, wincing slightly as he stood. "He has significant burns and he's inhaled toxic smoke: I won't know the severity of the situation until I've run some more scans."

"What in Hell was he _thinking_?" Wobbling slightly, Captain Archer was helped around the corner by a couple of ashen-faced crewmen. "Trip!"

"He was thinking of _you_ , Sir." Reed clasped both hands behind his back, knowing he couldn't stop himself reaching out for his stricken lover otherwise. "The aliens, Captain?"

Archer stopped dead, staring at the unconscious invaders as if he had forgotten their existence. "Drag them to the transporter and stand by to send them back to their ship. Malcolm, I know you want to stay with Trip, but..."

"Understood." He straightened up, trying not to wince at the audible click as his Starfleet mask dropped back into place. "Weapons first, or engines?"

_("The perfect Tac. Officer even under extreme stress," Riker marvelled. "Even Archer's not thinking that clearly yet!"_

_"He_ has _just been knocked out with a rifle butt," Troi reminded him mildly.)_

"Um - weapons." The taller man gripped his subordinate by the shoulder. "Keep us posted, Doctor; we'll join you as soon as we can. And - take good care of him."

The Denobulan sniffed, the only expression of displeasure he could afford while seeing his patient carefully loaded onto a trolley. With a last worried glance back, Malcolm Reed allowed himself to be steered away from the charred remnants of the power couplings toward the bridge and another shooting-match.


	7. Session Six: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just can't wait a week for the next gripping instalment...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _It_ never happened - not in my universe anyway!

"We can't stop it there, Will!" Deanne Troi wailed when he would have deactivated the program. "We're off-duty, and nobody else has the holodeck booked tonight! I've _got_ to see that Trip's all right!"

"You've read all the same books as me." Arms crossed, Will Riker grinned at his frustrated Imzadi. Any moment now, he figured, she was likely to start stamping her foot. "All right, we'll move on to Sickbay if you're sure you can't wait another week! But it comes off your holodeck time."

"Fine." Deanna pouted at him. With a grin, he called up the new scene.

*

"He's going to be fine in a couple of days," Phlox informed the two men hovering anxiously on either side of the single occupied biobed. "I've repaired the worst of the damage to his hands, and though they'll be tender for a week or two, I see no reason why Mr Tucker can't be back on duty before we reach Earth. The secondary burns to his face and torso only needed a little grafting, and once the Tarkelian Tissue Worm has done his work, the lungs will be as good as new. It's fortunate you anticipated his intentions, Commander: another few degrees of heat going through those cables and we might not have been so cheerful now."

"Indeed." Trip's hands were pink and swollen, his face still horribly pale beneath its fine coating of soot and ash. Reed leaned heavily against the biobed's head, dizziness washing through him for the fifteenth time in as many minutes.

"Malcolm?" Phlox and Captain Archer both reached out supporting arms, sharing a look of resignation when the younger man stiffened up, visibly preparing to shove them away. A groan from the bed diverted the lectures Reed could see working their way up human and Denobulan throats.

"Mal? Wher'm ah?"

"I'm here, love." Hazy blue eyes wandered over his face. The new, raw skin covering Charles Tucker the Third's lower jaw stretched tentatively into a dopey grin.

"Hey, darlin'," he mumbled into a fit of harsh coughing. Willing hands raised his exposed shoulders, leaving Reed free to wipe the sooty spittle away from his puckered lips. "Y' look like hell."

"Coming from you, that could almost be funny." He tried to be stern, but their compassionate looks and the smoke-scarred thread of his lover's voice were too much. Reed's shoulders began to heave and to his unutterable disgust a pair of brilliant teardrops began to slide against his peaked cheekbones. 

"Hey." Trying to reach up, Trip noticed the rawness of fresh skin tugging his fingers for the first time. "Nice job, Doc," he sputtered through another bout of coughing, arching against the Captain's restraining hands. "Lemme up, Jon, can't you see there's a man needs a hug around here? What happened?"

"After you tried to fry yourself, you mean?" The words came out harshly, and he found that he really didn't care what anybody thought. Trip's bloodshot eyes drifted shut.

"Had t' do somethin', darlin'. I thought - I mean, I didn't 'spect to... Aw, Mal, ah'm so sorry baby!"

"I know you didn't you blithering fool. And how often must I tell you, _don't_ apply that repellent epithet to me!" Somehow the insult softened into an endearment. Had he looked up, Reed would have been nauseated by the fond smiles on the faces of their audience. "I swear if you weren't lying on a biobed in sickbay, _Mister_ Tucker, your sorry arse would currently be getting kicked all over the bloody ship! You could've been killed, and - and..."

"Hey, 's alright, I'm still here." Wincing, Tucker managed to reach clumsily up and yank his shuddering partner into an awkward embrace. Phlox lunged forward, obviously anxious about the grafted skin, but Archer restrained him, never taking his eyes off the couple collapsed on the bed.

"They both need a minute, Doc, okay?"

"You gonna tell me what happened?" His fingers felt strange, Trip noted as they wove awkwardly through Malcolm's thick dark hair. "'m guessing you had somethin' t' do do with - whatever the hell it was."

"Malcolm ordered Engineering to divert most of the power away from any junction you tried to access. You're a damn lucky man, Trip Tucker." Archer smiled over Reed's shoulder at the grimy engineer. "Got your very own guardian angel watching over you."

"He did once call me the angel of death," Malcolm announced, the hiccoughed words muffled against Tucker's bare shoulder. Trip tightened his hold, sending their commanding officer a pleading look.

"You saved my ass that time too, if I remember," he crooned. "Hell, I'm the fuckin' engineer, and I never thought to jettison the impulse drive and blow it! Malcolm ah'm so sorry, darlin'! aH had t' _do_ somethin'... couldn't let the bastards take Shran's lil' girl..."

"I know." The thickened accent soothed him. Trip was getting upset now, and he needed to stay calm to aid his recovery. "Although - for Christ's sake, you _utter_ moron, couldn't you think of something less insubordinate than inviting a gang of alien thugs to clobber the Captain?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry 'bout that, Cap'n." Sheepish as a small boy, Tucker offered a reluctant grin. Archer nodded.

"Think yourself lucky this is our last mission, Commander," he teased, and though it was a lame joke it was necessary: everyone smiled, even Reed, straightening up to gaze tenderly down at his embarrassed man. "It's a little late for me to rescind that promotion you're expecting."

"Cap'n Tucker ain't gonna sound right anyway." He watched the grin twist his long-time partner's bitten lips and brought up a hand toward him. "You gonna forgive me for bein' a jerk, lover?"

"I've done that before now, my dear." Reed captured the wandering limb, feathering his lips across the tender new skin. "But I'll be glad to get you off this ship. Even _you_ can't create much mayhem in the Warp 7 Project's hangars!"

"Dontcha go puttin' money on that, Commander." He could feel the delicate sweep of tongue against his knuckles. Trip's eyes drifted shut once more, the remnants of Phlox's all-purpose sedative still active in his bloodstream. "That mean we're still goin' ahead with that ceremony sometime soon?"

"The sooner the better." Leaning down to sweep a lock of dark blond hair from the engineer's forehead, Malcolm felt his first real smile of the day wrench his aching jaw. "You need somebody around to keep your arse out of the fire, Charles Tucker the Third; it might as well be me as some poor innocent bastard who won't know what they're letting themselves in for."

Jonathan Archer cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, is there something you'd like to tell us?" he asked. 

Both men blinked, staring up at the purse-lipped captain as if they had never seen him before. "We always kinda planned t' git married aboard Enterprise, Jon," Trip clarified, his smile widening to epic proportions as he met his partner's glittering eyes. "She's been home for so long, where all the folks are like family..."

"We _had_ intended to ask you to do the honours during the last day aboard, Sir." Despite the incongruity of their circumstances, Reed fell naturally into his best parade-ground stance. Trip divided a fond smile between lover and oldest friend.

"Yeah we've been planning to make honest men of each other for - five years is it, darlin'? Heck, we're both old-fashioned like that, Jon; we wanna make it official, and we couldn't do that serving together out here."

"Why ever not?" Forgotten, Phlox produced the ubiquitous stylus and PADD from his desk. Tucker's shoulders gave a tentative lift.

"Don't ask, don't tell, remember that one, Doc? Kinda hard for the Cap'n to deny knowing about me and Malcolm if he'd performed the ceremony!"

_("So that's why they waited so long!" Deanna exclaimed, her unmoderated voice making Riker wince. "They were thinking of their Captain!"_

_"Surprised?" he asked. Troi shook her head until her thick black hair was flying._

_"Now I've got to know them - no."_

_He grinned. "Me neither.")_

"I would have taken the risk!" Archer exclaimed.

"We couldn't have allowed it, Sir." It hadn't been mentioned in a while and Malcolm could feel his heart swelling dangerously again as realisation began to seep through the layers of panic, tiredness and relief that were fogging his brain. "It all rather depends on you now, Doctor. Is my fiancé going to be fit enough for a wedding within the next few days?"

"Fiancé," Trip mumbled. "Ah like the sound 'f that, Mal."

"I'm thinking _husband_ is a title I'll like more." He had to touch the other man, feel the steady breathing, the warm, living flesh against his cold fingers. Tucker shifted into his lightest caress, murmuring the title himself as if he wanted to try its taste. 

"Yeah," he agreed at length. "Husband's good. So, Doc - you gonna let Jonny here perform that ceremony before we jump ship?"

"You need to take things easily for a while, Commander, but who am I to stand in the way of true love?" Beaming, the Denobulan gave his assent with a wave of the hands. "As long as there's a seat for me at the ceremony of course!"

"In the front row, Doctor," Malcolm assured him firmly. "You're as good as family, having kept us both alive long enough to reach this point!"

"Speaking of family." They were both a little giddy, and Jonathan Archer didn't blame them: the torrent of the day's emotions was catching up with him too. "What about all those Tuckers, Trip? How're you going to explain a wedding without them? And Malcolm, I know you're not close to your parents but..."

"We told Mom about our plans a long time ago." He was tiring visibly, and fighting it hard as a truculent schoolboy. "Sh' said it don't matter where we're married, just so long 's there's a party when we git home."

"Malcolm..."

"It's a pity Madeleine won't be present, Sir, but my parents... why would I spoil the happiest day of my life with their disapproval?" 

_("Ouch!" Riker muttered. "His father-issues must've been_ waaay _bigger than mine!"_

_"Does that make you feel better about them?"_

_"Hell, Dee, I don't need psycho-analysing now!")_

"Mal being with me's about the last straw for his daddy, Cap'n," Trip announced through a humungous yawn. "Ah'™m a man, a superior officer and ah'm American t' boot. Ain't gonna be no welcome home parties in Malaysia anytime soon."

"Malcolm I'm sorry..."

"Please don't be, Captain." The storm-clouds lifted visibly, leaving Reed's changeable eyes almost blue. "If my parents don't wish to meet Trip, it's their loss. Maddie will come to the Tucker family party, and perhaps we could ask Hoshi to play official photographer? Trip, you're going to have to speak to T'Pol about what the best man's supposed to do."

_("He had his Vulcan ex-lover as his best man?" Riker choked. Troi rolled her eyes,_

_"I'm sure he'd have had Captain Archer, if he hadn't been busy performing the ceremony," she said soothingly.)_

"You'll have Travis, 'm guessin? With Hoshi doin' he pictures, and Chef fixin' up a feast? C'mon, Cap'n! You can marry us before you make Admiral!"

"And before the two of you start terrorising Starfleet R&D." Clapping each man on the shoulder, Jonathan Archer grinned massively. "Just name the day, gentlemen, but I'm warning you: people are going to be very angry they've got so little time to prepare for the occasion."

"Why do you think we've kept our engagement secret, Sir?" His shudder was not entirely feigned, and Reed suspected they knew it. "Now you're knackered, love: we should leave you to sleep. No arguments, Mister Tucker! You're going to need your strength in time for that wedding night, you know!"

"Too much information, Mister Reed." Laughing at his staid Tactical Officer's unrepentant smirk Archer hauled the younger man toward the Sickbay doors. "You need some rest yourself, by the way: Trip's not wrong, you look like hell."

"You may have to get used to that look, Sir; goes with marrying your friend there."

When his jovial remark ended on a giggle, Malcolm realised his kind friends were right. "Bloody hell, I need some sleep," he muttered, allowing himself to be steered bodily toward the turbolift. "And thank you, Captain. It - it means a lot to us that you'll perform the ceremony."

"I'd shoot anyone else who tried out of the way, Lieutenant-Commander." Fondly smiling at the Englishman's weary chuckle, Archer punched the correct level into the lift panel, sending him on his way. "Sleep well, my friend," he added softly once the doors had hummed shut.

"Computer, save program and close!"

"Aw, Dee!" Will Riker stuck out his lower lip. "Aren't we going to see the wedding now?"

"No!" Her vehemence, Troi suspected, betrayed exactly how tempted she was. "You heard Admiral Tucker; they wanted a private wedding with the people they considered their family. It would be wrong to intrude."

"They wouldn't know." He had no intention of violating their privacy, Riker assured himself. He just wanted to see how far his beloved could be provoked.

" _I_ would know." Arms crossed, Deanna spiked him with a glare Malcolm Reed himself could not have bettered. "It's an intrusion too far, Will and you know it!"

"I do." Their history lesson was coming to an end, and William Riker, never a keen student in his schooldays, found himself feeling empty at the prospect. "Wanna carry on? We can take a look at their lives on Earth: and there's _Britannia_...

Her onyx eyes gleamed. "I was hoping you were going to mention that," she admitted. "After all, that's public record, not a private occasion like a marriage or the birth of children. Next week?"

"I've got an hour's holodeck time booked tomorrow? I'll play around with the program a little, see what it comes up with."

Deanna pushed onto her toes, resting her soft, full lips against the scratchiness of his beard. "Nothing too personal, remember?" she whispered, applying just enough pressure to make a proper kiss. Before he could come back with a clever line, she was gone.


	8. Session Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life on Earth with Starfleet R&D's finest officers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more spoilers, but an amendment to the warnings; henceforth, this is a futurefic in every sense.

Golden sunlight caressed his face, but its warmth completely failed to soften the fierce scowl on the face of Captain Charles Tucker the Third as he exited the main administrative block of Starfleet's ever-expanding headquarters. His knuckles showed white on the edge of the PADDs he wondered why he had bothered bringing all the way from his office in the Engineering Research Division across campus. God knew, Johnny hadn't asked him a single question about the Warp 6 project they had supposedly been meeting to discuss!

And now he didn't have time to accompany his oldest buddy to the cafeteria for lunch. "Sorry Trip, I'd love to join you, but I was due with Admiral Leonard five minutes ago," Admiral Archer announced, giving him a healthy clout on the back. "His coffee's too weak and his interrogation technique needs serious work, but he _is_ my immediate boss."

"Lucky you." He couldn't stay mad at Jon. With a friendly wave, Trip turned right where his old C.O. went left, heading for the single-storey white block with its panoramic windows. If nothing else, the Admirals' mess was the best place to eat inside Starfleet's perimeters.

_("Will, what are we doing here?" Deanna hissed, trotting at his side on Captain Tucker's heels. Her companion spared her a perplexed look._

_"No idea, Dee: I left it to the computer to select an important moment between Enterprise's decommissioning and Britannia."_

_"Will!"_

_He shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he groused, taking a seat beside her at a table close to the one Tucker chose.)_

The tall Southerner selected a pasta dish and slumped at his table, long fingers tapping away rhythmically at his PADD. He seemed oblivious to his stark white painted and glass surroundings until a rich, precisely-accented voice sliced through the low hum of lunchtime chat with the lancing certainty of a phase pistol. "Trip!"

"Hey, Commander." With a mammoth grin, Tucker stretched up from his seat to wave, the strong cafeteria lights glinting off the gold band on his finger. "Whatcha doin' over this side, Mal? Not that I'm not happy to see you..."

"Let me grab some lunch and I'll tell you." As Reed swayed past to the serving counter a spark of light caught the matching band on his left hand. Trip Tucker nodded, sinking back to his seat with a contemplative smile playing over his lips as he watched his husband's lithe, confident saunter through the gathering throng.

_("He can't take his eyes off him," Troi marvelled. "I wonder how long they've been married by now.")_

Reed returned with a salad and a steaming cup of Vulcan spiced tea, sliding himself into the place opposite his husband with a gusty sigh. "You didn't mention any meetings with the brass-hats, love?" he remarked, raising his cup in playful salute. Trip grunted into his tortellini. 

"That's because I didn't have any, 'til Jonnyboy decided to use his damn power t' call me away from my job," Malcolm's eyebrows lifted sharply.

"Admiral Archer called you over, did he?"

"Yeah. Guess he figures we all sit on our asses tryin' to fly our desks. What're you grinning at, you smug Limey bastard?"

"Now Captain, is that any way to speak to your devoted spouse?" Reed tutted, not noticeably offended. "It would seem I under-estimated Jonathan Archer all along. He's a far sneakier little shit that I ever imagined."

"I'll be sure t' tell 'im he's gone up in your estimation, darlin'." Tucker let his fork fall with a clatter, spilling tomato sauce over the pristine table. His husband frowned and, blushing, he produced a tissue from his breast pocket to scrub the stain away. "You laughing at me, Commander Reed?"

"Would I, Captain Tucker?" Malcolm stretched across to tickle the back of his partner's hand. Smiling, Trip turned the hand over, lacing his fingers through the smaller man's. 

"Yep. Hell, I'll have to thank Jon for wasting half my mornin' now, since he's got me a lunch date with the sexiest weapons tech in Starfleet."

"Behave!" Malcolm flushed, sliding a worried glance left to the pair of grey-bearded admirals who chose that exact moment to pass their table. "And I suspect, my dear that was exactly what the devious little snot had in mind. Take a look at this."

He pushed the small PADD he had dropped beside his husband's across the table. Trip glanced at it casually.

His eyes widened. " _Awright_!" he yelped, lunging over their meals to engulf the younger man in a boisterous bear-hug. "Cap'n Reed! It's about damn well time!"

" _Do_ shout a little louder, love, they might not have heard you on Vulcan." Embarrassment, he had always thought, suited his shy Englishman perfectly, bringing a touch of colour to the sharply angled features and an adorable little pout to the sensual mouth. "And don't spout such nonsense! I've only been a full Commander for two years."

"You should've had that third shiny pip years ago, Mistah Reed, and don't you forget it!" Tucker shot back, untroubled by the prissy way his husband straightened his uniform and finger-combed his Trip-mussed hair into order. "Say, you think Jon knew about this? Is that why he wanted me over this side 'f the campus, to be here when you came outta the big man's office? You've been with Admiral Leonard?"

Reed nodded. "And yes, Admiral Archer knew," he affirmed, jabbing a slim fingertip against the screen. "Take a look at the names _supporting and approving the said promotion_."

"Leonard, Admiral J.S," Tucker recited, his eyebrows making a climb Reed's would be pressed to match. "Parker, Admiral P. Archer, Admiral J.H. Damn sneaky, smug, disloyal bastard! He never said a word to me!"

"I hardly think he was at liberty to reveal another officer's confidential information to you, Captain." Reed's eyes were dancing, blue highlights sparkling warmly against the silver-grey base. "And at least he made sure you were the first person after the officer concerned to hear the news."

Tucker's face split with another huge, good-humoured grin. "Guess we better forgive him for being a devious lil' _snot_ then." He tightened the grip he still held on his husband's hand. "I'm proud of you, darlin'. Ain't nobody in the fleet deserves that fourth pip more. Now we can tell our grandkids someday, we both made cap'n inside three years."

"Ugh! Grandchildren?" Malcolm choked violently, a chunk of tomato going down the wrong way at his beloved's airy non sequitur. "You're going to kill me before we've got their parents sorted out, saying things like that!"

Tucker grinned. "When do you get the extra pip to wear, Cap;n Reed?"

"First of next month it becomes official. You'll have to stick with Commander for another eight days."

Trip rolled his eyes and threw up his free hand theatrically. "Hey, you've never played the subordinate before, darlin'; I sure as hell don't expect you to start now!"

_("Oh, Will!" Deanna was all but melting into the floor with delight. "I don't suppose he was as excited about his own promotion! They're adorable.")_

Malcolm nibbled his bottom lip. "What's gotcha worrying this time?" Trip demanded, bringing the hand he held to his mouth. His husband sighed.

"I've always tried to respect your rank in public, love," he began, aware he was stepping into a minefield (probably Romulan, the thought ran through his brain unbidden). "And I shan't be the one forgetting, you'll have two years' seniority over me even though our titles will be the same..."

"Malcolm." Tucker turned the captive limb over, feathering his tongue against Reed's work-weathered palm and relishing the man's responsive shudder. "You ain't never been no subordinate to me. Heck, if anything you're the boss around here!"

Reed's eyelids drifted down, the sparks of mischief that lanced Risan-ocean blue through the stormy depths almost shielded. "Yes, well you do rather like to be _taken in hand_ , Captain, don't you?" he cooed.

"Malcolm!" Half-masticated pasta spattered over a ten metre radius from the table. "Dammit darlin', are you trying to make me suffer or somethin'?"

"Oh, definitely _or something_ , my dear." The Englishman crooned, giving his jumpsuit a careful tug as he stood, pushing his half-finished meal aside. "Does that slightly _pained_ expression mean you're not walking back to the R &D buildings with me?"

"Just gimme a minute, okay?" Trip leaned back in his chair, breathing deeply. Serenely smiling Malcolm gathered their crockery and loaded their trays, bustling off to the recycling bin at the far end of the hangar-like room. By the time his partner returned, falling naturally into the classic _at ease_ stance, Tucker had himself under sufficient control to stand and offer his hand.

Without hesitation, Reed took it. Bickering gently about what time to finish work and whether to order in pizza or cook, the two men ambled out into the afternoon heat oblivious to the glances cast their way.

"Computer, save program and end!"

She jumped at the sound of his familiar voice, hating the dullness of the holodeck as it solidified around them. "I like them more every time I see them,â€ Deanna stated, daring him to disagree. "Malcolm is so much _cheekier_ than I expected, and Trip's downright adorable!"

"I get the feeling Starfleet had to take them as a pair, or they'd both have quit." Riker eyed her sceptically, waiting for the protest. 

It never came. "Most likely," Troi agreed, giving the holodeck control panel a friendly pat on the way out. "Good choice, computer," she murmured. "Britannia next week, Will?"

He gave her a sharp nod, ducking in to press his lips onto hers before she could take the initiative or fright (either of which, he admitted, was possible). "Britannia," he agreed over his shoulder, delighted to find her standing in the middle of her hall with her fingers against her lips, gaping helplessly after him.


	9. Session Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is coming. Starfleet needs its brightest and best. Nobody bothered recording how hard it was to actually get them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References 4.20 "Demons"/4.21 "Terra Prime"

They stood shoulder to shoulder before the huge desk which dominated Admiral Leonard's penthouse office, both holding themselves as stiffly at attention as greenhorn cadets before the two older men who faced them. Jonathan Archer's craggy features softened into a smile now and then, as if he were remembering another time and place. The white-haired man on his right, slightly stooped with age, cleared his throat and croaked out in a tone of weary resignation.

"Gentlemen, we appreciate your unique situation, but we are facing a major confrontation with the Romulans. Every officer with combat experience is needed on the front line. Believe me, we're reluctant to lose your valuable expertise in your own departments, but I believe Admiral Archer will concur: Starfleet needs you more in deep space."

"Admiral, I appreciate the compliment, but me and Malcolm had ten years of deep space, and we chose to give it up to be together." Trip's hands were clenching behind his back, and even had he been standing on the farther side of the spacious room Malcolm would have registered his tension. "I'm not saying we don't see the seriousness of the situation here, but - we quit deep space for a reason, and that reason still exists. Starfleet's not willing to see couples serve together, and we've always been clear: we don't wanna be apart."

"Trip, we've always understood where you stand, and we've respected your commitment to each other." Archer glanced at the Englishman, silently appealing for a fair hearing. Malcolm's lips pursed.

"Admiral, we'll assist in any conflict to the best of our abilities, but I must reiterate Captain Tucker's words. We are not willing to be parted, particularly if battle is imminent."

"That's why we've called you here together, gentlemen." Admiral Leonard rapped his prominent knuckles on the desk as if they were a judge's gavel, recalling the three younger officers to his watchful presence. "You're aware that Starfleet's most advanced small vessel the _Britannia_ is due launch within the next two weeks."

"The two of you know her key systems better than almost anyone else," Archer cut in before either man could protest the statement of the blazingly obvious. "Overdrive capacity up to Warp 5.8; high-intensity phase cannons and cross-polarised torpedoes. Your fingerprints are all over that ship. We need you both aboard her."

"Ship can't have two cap'ns, Sir; and if you're thinkin' about fooling around with ranks..."

"Captain Tucker, _if_ you would be kind enough to allow the Admiral to finish his sentence." Leonard glared at them as if, Reed considered, they were equally to blame for his husband's insubordination. Archer sighed.

"Trip, it's taken me a while to talk the High Command around to this so just hear us out, okay?" Jonathan Archer lifted a placating hand. With a sniff that stated clearly he was acting against his better judgement, Tucker let his jaw snap shut.

"Our suggestion - our request - " the older man corrected with a glance aside, "is that you both ship out on Britannia. Malcolm, we're asking you to accept the commission as her Captain, with Trip as your Chief Engineer. Starfleet needs its finest and gentlemen, that still means you."

"Out of the question." Reed's posture stiffened to spine-cracking straightness. "Captain Tucker is the senior officer. Under no circumstances will I accept command over him."

"Now Malcolm that's awful sweet, but you know ah've never wanted to play bridge officer." Tucker's eyes had brightened and he swivelled away from the watchful admirals to grin appealingly at his bristling spouse, giving what he privately termed his best puppy-dog look. It had been known to melt Malcolm out of an Arctic sulk: it was generally less effective in cooling molten anger, but what the heck? It was worth a try before the most dutiful officer in the fleet _lost his rag_ with Earth's two most decorated flag officers.

"It would be a gross impropriety, Admiral." 

_("Ouch!" Riker muttered. "I wonder if he ever turned that tone on in private? I can't picture Admiral Tucker looking like a whipped puppy, but..."_

_"It's fascinating, isn't it?" Troi murmured, leaning forward as the holograms continued to outstare each other. "Tucker is always reported as the sentimental one, but it's Reed, the arch pragmatist, who's reacting on a completely emotional level. Trip is his senior officer, and he can't bear the thought of that changing.")_

"Malcolm I realise it's painful for you, but these are exceptional circumstances." Archer flicked a glance to his boss that practically yelled _Let me handle this_. Rounding the large desk, he moved close to the indignant Englishman, careful to stay just out of his jealously-guarded personal space. "There's no dishonour in the best engineer in Starfleet overseeing the most important engines we have; Trip earned his fourth pip, and he's not going to be deprived of it by serving under an exceptional younger officer. I admit I'd never ask him to accept playing second fiddle to anyone else, and I don't think he'd accept it..."

"Heck, I'm used t' obeying your orders most 'f the time anyway, Cap'n Reed!"

Every face froze. "Oops," Trip announced into the deafening silence weighting the carefully-cooled air. "One of these days I'm gonna learn to think before I open m' mouth."

"That I doubt," Reed growled. "Admiral Archer, contrary to the implication of my husband's words I trust I have _always_ given due courtesy to his seniority within Starfleet. I don't intend to breach that policy in a highly public and embarrassing manner now."

"Malcolm..."

"If you don't mind Captain Tucker?"

_("Archer can see appeals to sentiment aren't going to work," Deanna whispered, enthralled by the psychological subtleties she was observing. "I never imagined Reed would be this irrational!"_

_"He was known for playing by the book," Riker pointed out. "And that means deferring to seniority within the same rank. What's he going to try, Dee?")_

Archer straightened his shoulders and frowned down into the stern face of his former Armoury Office. "We're facing the greatest threat since Terra Prime - and I know you share the suspicion of a Romulan hand behind that," he stated, defying the younger man to challenge. "I'll be leading the fleet aboard the _Federation_ but if things go badly Britannia with her advanced technologies could be the only thing guarding my back. I need to know her captain is up to the job.

"Who better to drag my ass out of trouble than the man who spent ten years doing just that on Enterprise? I need you on that bridge, Mister Reed; and I need our finest engineer sweet-talking the overdrive systems on her engines. What do you say?"

The North Atlantic chill seemed to fade from Reed's eyes. "Damn you, Jonathan Archer," he murmured, swaying instinctively into the warmth of his husband's supportive presence. "You _had_ to say that."

"Gentlemen, you mind giving us a few minutes?" He dared not risk touching the frustrated man, but simply by moving into his space Tucker managed to convey his sympathetic solidarity with his partner. Reed's shoulders visibly relaxed.

"we'll be right next door." Giving the elder officer no time to object, Archer steered him by the elbow through a connecting door into a smaller office. Tucker waited until it had buzzed shut to take the final step, sweeping his agitated spouse into a comforting embrace.

"You know Jon's right, darlin'," he crooned into the Englishman's dark hair. "Ain't nobody better to watch his back in a fight than you."

"Damn his eyes, invoking duty." The words were no less vehement for being muffled in Trip Tucker's chest. "And damn yours too, Charles Tucker, for admitting it!"

"We've gotta do it, babe, and no: I don't like it any better than you do." When Reed struggled Tucker let him go, allowing the man to step back to arm's length and studying his solemn expression with huge, unhappy eyes. "They're right about us knowing those systems better than anybody else, and before you say a word, they're right in making you captain over me."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm being rational and deep down you know it, you spiky lil' rule-bound Limey bastard." That won him a reluctant grin, emboldening Trip to press on. "I'm the engines guy, Mal; you're the bridge man. If I were in Jon's position, I'd be wanting the best damn tactical officer Starfleet ever had - his words, not mine - in the big chair of my most advanced ship. You're not demoting me, and I sure as Hell ain't feelin' overlooked. You're the best man for the job, Malcolm Reed, and it'll be an honour an' a privilege for me to serve under you."

_("Will, isn't that the most beautiful declaration of love you've ever heard?" Deanna whispered, clutching his hand. Riker could only nod.)_

"But you _deserve_ command, love: and how does it look, your being placed under the authority of an officer so much lower down the list than you? Christ, I've only been a captain for ten months! It's _wrong_ , Trip, however flattering it might be to me. I couldn't bear to have people muttering behind their hands..."

"Darlin' we'll be fighting the Romulans again, ad everybody knows there's no better fighter in the 'fleet than you." Helpless against the hurt in his lover's eyes Trip dragged him back into his arms, rocking them both gently. "Jesus Malcolm, I don't care what some dumbass farmer in Idaho thinks about my junior cap'n husband getting command over my head: I just want us to be together. Are you even thinking what it's costin' Leonard to offer us senior positions on the same damn ship? 

"You and me together, givin' the enemy hell under Johnnyboy's command! It'll be jus like old times! You'd be a great starship captain; me, Jon and T'Pol, we always thought that about you."

"I never wanted to be anything of the sort: and anyway, I'd be crap in first contact situations," Reed replied dismissively, though the sparkle was back in his smoky gaze when it met his husband's anxious ocean stare. "Oh, bugger them all to Hell! We're going to do this, aren't we?"

"Figure we don't have a whole lot of choice: us being the dedicated 'fleeters we are." Trip squared his shoulders and grinned cheekily down at the smaller man. "And think about it! They couldn't 've named your ship better. _Britannia_? Shit, unless they'd called her _paranoid pain-in-the-ass Limey-bastard_ , it couldn't have been more right! You okay if I call the admirals back in?"

"Give me a moment; and don't expect me to like it." His lower lip sticking out, Malcolm turned to stare from the panoramic windows, focussing his fierce stare somewhere beyond the Golden Gate Bridge. "Oh all right, damn you! Let's get it over with."

_("Boy, can he sulk!" Riker marvelled. Troi, watching the grin on Trip Tucker's handsome face, allowed herself a small chuckle._

_"I get the feeling Malcolm's become used to having his own way," she teased. "But Trip's right; conceding their right to serve together as senior officers must have been painful for such a traditionalist as Admiral Leonard.")_

"Well?" The white-haired man came direct to the point, frowning from one man to the other and back, rheumy blue eyes resting on Reed's stern face. "Are you in agreement, Captains?"

"There are a few points which need clarification before anything is agreed, Sir." Reed flashed a _Keep-Out!_ glance his husband's way. Tucker folded his hands and assumed a stoic mien that won a minimal softening of the Englishman's stance.

"Indeed?" Leonard and Archer shared a speculative look. "Proceed, Captain."

"Captain Tucker's rank will be fully respected."

"Absolutely," Archer agreed at once. "He'll be addressed as Captain and have Level 10 security clearance."

"Should I be incapacitated, command will devolve onto him as the senior officer present. I won't have some jumped-up ninny of a Commander strutting about bawling orders to a superior officer."

"Malcolm..."

"These things have to be made clear before we start. I'm sure you concur, Admirals?"

_("Ouch!" whispered Troi._

_"Hoist by their own petard," agreed Riker.)_

Leonard's shock of pale hair bobbed. "Naturally: and as Captain Tucker will be privy to the same information as yourself, Commander Hollis will defer to him at all times. Does that satisfy your concern for Captain Tucker's status?"

"I got concerns of my own, Sir," Trip butted in, bristling under Malcolm's censorious tut. â"I want it made clear to everybody, Britannia is Cap'n Reed's ship. I'm just a chief engineer who happens to have four pips on my chest. Agreed?"

"Completely. Captain Reed?"

Malcolm committed himself to a sharp nod. "Excellent!" Admiral Archer announced. "If that's everything..."

"Not quite, Sir." Reed's voice had regained a steeliness to match his icy eyes, and under that look, Trip was pleased to notice, even the venerable Leonard quailed. "There _is_ the matter of our relationship."

"Relationship?" Jonathan sounded worried, and his old friend didn't blame him. "Malcolm, I'm not sure I understand..."

"Captain Tucker and I have been married for three years," Malcolm reminded the man who had performed the ceremony with deathly seriousness. "It's hardly a secret, however much Command might have liked it to be, and I am damned if I'll resort to scuttling about my own starship like a frightened rabbit because of an archaic rule forbidding senior officers from sleeping together. We board Britannia as a couple, or frankly, Admirals - we won't be boarding her at all."

Trip was gazing at him with a degree of besotted admiration Malcolm would have wiped from his face with the flat of his hand at any other time. Admiral Leonard's parchment complexion had turned an interesting shade of puce, but Admiral Archer's impassivity matched his own. "Understood, Captain," he said simply. "As long as there's no making out in the Jeffries tubes or pet names over the comm. I guess we can live with shared accommodation. Admiral?"

"Hm? Of course." The old man shook himself, but not before a very pointed look had been cast the way of Britannia's new C.O. "I understood Captain Tucker to be prone to bursts of _insubordination_ , Jonathan. It seems Captain Reed has learned some of his husband's less appealing habits."

"Malcolm's always been fierce in protecting what he cares for, James." Archer's green eyes twinkled at the blush which stained the younger man's cheek. "And it wouldn't make much sense to ignore a relationship that's as widely known as yours, gentlemen. If you could be discreet in the first flush of romance on Enterprise, I'd say you can control yourselves on duty now. Is it a deal?"

Trip eyed his husband for a long moment, letting the rest of the room fade away. "Whaddaya say, Cap'n Reed?" he murmured, extending a hand. "Ready to go do your duty?"

"As if I have a choice." Malcolm took the proffered limb and, possessed by a sprite, lifted it to his lips. Hurriedly, Archer sloshed water into a glass and thrust it at his hyperventilating colleague. "All right. We accept our commissions. When do we leave?"

"Britannia finishes her space trials on Friday; her crew's assembled but for Captain and Chief Engineer. If you're willing, we can arrange transport to meet her at Jupiter Station Saturday morning."

Four days to pack up. Trip watched the dismay darken his husband's beautiful eyes and sighed. "I guess we can manage that, Cap - Admiral," he corrected himself hurriedly. "How long d' you estimate before things heat up between us and the Romulans?"

"Weeks. Months at most." Archer knew better than to soft-soap his most capable officers. "Getting Britannia and her crew battle-ready will be a challenge: that's another reason I want the two of you aboard her. With our best strategist in the big chair, and our finest engineer sweet-talking the engines... The Romulans would be wise to surrender right now."

"Computer, save program and end." The two captains were frozen mid-eyeroll as Riker and Troi stepped out of the shadows, still tentative in approaching the petrified figures. "Not," the First Officer observed blandly, "What I expected to see."

"I'm amazed every week how little justice the official record does them," Deanna agreed, examining the precise, miniscule gap between the husbands' hands. "Trip being hard-headed and practical; Malcolm getting himself emotional at the prospect of out-ranking his husband... Admiral Archer understood them well: he manipulated their devotion to duty beautifully. I wonder if they ever forgave him for it?"

"They were chief mourners at his funeral, Dee, so I figure they probably got over it." Smiling, he patted her hunched shoulder. "Same time, next week? Britannia's bridge?"

She cast him a radiant smile before bolting, too quick to allow the kiss he'd intended. "I wouldn't miss it! Goodnight, Imzadi."


	10. Session Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We know Captain Archer didn't care for the term "battle stations". Captain Reed has fewer scruples - especially in a war zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that pet annoyance of mine? English characters using American pronunciation? Herein lies my explanation!

Smoke drifted across the bridge from a blown console aft, hanging thick and acrid; sparks still sputtered from the ruined unit as Britannia bucked under the concerted assault of two Romulan Warbirds. "Hold your course, Mister Martin," Malcolm Reed called from the central chair. "Lieutenant Santal?"

"Hull plating at 90%, Sir." The Vulcan at the tactical console didn't raise his eyes, concentrated on the task of returning fire. Across the main viewscreen, the carnage of battle showed in all its chaotic horror: Romulan and Starfleet vessels hanging dead in space, tongues of fire spitting from shattered nacelles like the breath of enraged dragons. It was well-nigh impossible to be sure if either side was gaining an advantage.

_("Guess some things never change," William Riker mused, watching the controlled frenzy of activity and the way it focussed on the pokerfaced figure in the central chair. "This could be our Enterprise with Captain Picard."_

_"Captain Reed seems to have forgotten his misgivings in combat," Deanna murmured, watching the slim Englishman lean forward, hands relaxed on the chair's arms as he studied the battlefield panorama. "And Captain Tucker did stay in Engineering! I half-expected he'd be up here at his husband's side."_

_"Figure Malcolm would've allowed that?" Riker slanted her a grin. Troi shook her head.)_

"Mister Santal, target the starboard vessel's warp core," Reed rapped the command, eyes narrowed with concentration as he spotted a telltale flare against the enemy's hull defences. "There's a breach opening up. Fire at will."

_("He could see the breach opening? Damn, he's good!" Riker whispered admiringly.)_

The Vulcan tapped his console, sending a single missile lancing through space. "Good shooting, Lieutenant," Malcolm observed mildly, flexing his fingers as Britannia rolled with the explosion's force. "Captain Tucker! Report!"

"All in hand, Sir; we're ready to shift into overdrive on your mark." Trip's voice sounded loud, even cheerful, over the comm. Reed nodded, visibly bolstered by his partner's confidence.

"Captain! Long-range sensors are picking up five more warbirds on an intercept course!" Commander Hollis surged out of his chair, goggling at the viewscreen as if his frantic stare might bring the approaching vessels into plain view. 

"The Admiral's hailing us, Sir." From her station beside the helm, Britannia's pretty blonde comms officer spun toward her captain. Reed nodded.

"They're almost as quick as us," he murmured wryly, staggering as he rose, the bridge rocked by another direct hit. "On screen!"

Federation's bridge made her sister ship's look pristine: smoke billowed, sparks flew and a giant serpent of cable hung from the ceiling, waving ominously over Jonathan Archer's shoulder. Hair ruffled and a stain of ash down his right cheek, the Admiral held his balance easily though his ship was tossed like a cork on the ocean. "Company coming, Malcolm!" he hollered cheerily.

"We see them. Do you need a hand, or shall we go and chase 'em back over the fence?"

_("How cool are they?" Riker commented appreciatively, staggering slightly as their surroundings shuddered under heavy fire. Another panel blew out aft. Deanna shrank away, but the figures all around her ignored it.)_

"Hull plating at 75%, Captain!"

The two senior officers regarded each other steadily via the viewscreen. "We're keeping our heads above water, Captain," Archer said quietly. "But if those additional warbirds join the fleet..."

"Leave them to us, Sir." A mammoth explosion sent Britannia pitching and her commanding officer lurching forward into the helm station. Behind him the tactical console spat a shower of white-hot sparks up into the face of Lieutenant Santal. "Brackley! Get him to Sickbay. Mister Martin, set course to intercept the Romulans. Captain Tucker! Stand by to initiate overdrive on my mark."

"Aye, Sir!" Trip's bawl of assent overlaid the quieter calls of the bridge officers. With a quick nod to the anxious man on the viewer, Reed lunged past his command chair, hands curling possessively around the Tactical/Armoury station. "Commander Hollis, notify all stations to brace for Overdrive. Ensign?"

_("He's thrilled to get his finger back on the trigger," Riker diagnosed. Troi shrugged._

_"They did call him the most dangerous man in Starfleet," she reminded him drily.)_

"Course laid in, Sir." The youngster, whose big brown eyes and eager expression reminded him painfully of Travis Mayweather, craned round, openly gaping to see his C.O. manning the weapons station. 

"One light year and closing, Captain," Hollis reported. His fingers flying over the console, Reed spared him a brief half-smile.

"Sounds like our cue," he muttered. "Captain Tucker! Engage Overdrive!"

Instantly the ship juddered, her great bulk fighting the laws of physics for a sickening second. "Targeting scanners locked," Reed chanted, the smile broadening to a full million-megawatt beam as his ship appeared to drop to a violent halt. Before the arrested movement could sink in, he stabbed a final button, sending a full spread of torpedoes lancing into the unsuspecting Romulan fleet. 

The first ship erupted into a giant fireball, its destruction triggering a second, then a third explosion as the sisters in its wake were seized and dragged in. "They're falling back, Sir!" Hollis bellowed over the cut-off yelps and hisses of an exultant crew. "Pursuit course?"

"No." 

_(He's tempted," Deanna noted, amusement dancing through her voice. Riker grimaced._

_"So would I have been," he growled, watching the surviving Romulan vessels high-tailing back the way they had come.)_

Warning sirens were screaming, and sparks continued to spit from Reed's damaged station. The pulsing shadows cast across the bridge with the ship at Tactical Alert threw his chiselled cheekbones into sharp relief as he rounded the station and slumped back into his command chair. Bitter fumes drifted from the aft panels, making the officers manning them cough and cover their mouths. Reed glanced back, the tip of his tongue slipping out to moisten his lips as he tapped the comm. panel in his armrest.

"Bridge to Engineering!"

"Tucker here, Sir." Trip's honeyed drawl was ragged, as if he were fighting for breath. Reed frowned.

"What's your status, Captain?" he asked, raising his voice over the crackle of interference - doubtless caused by damage in the engine room - that shrieked through the comm.. "Ensign Martin, reverse course, best speed you can manage. Captain Tucker?"

_("He gets more English under pressure," Deanna pointed out. "Stay-tus instead of Stat-us. Do you remember reading, Will, he used to use the American pronunciation to save the nanosecond it would take for his colleagues to translate from British to American?"_

_"I never believed it, but I guess he really was that thorough," Riker agreed, equally impressed.)_

"We can give you full impulse and no more for now, Sir: there's a lot of overloaded circuits down here: I'm tryin' to hook a temporary bypass around the affected relays. I'm kind of hopin' you've scared those warbirds off our tail..."

"We appear to have discouraged them for the time being," Reed assured him drily. "Will the bypass be able to handle additional power if we shut down non-essential systems and sections?"

"We might make warp speed if you can shut down all non-combatant areas completely, Cap'n!" 

"We'll make the necessary preparations; just give us a few minutes. Bridge out."

_("I always wondered how they handled the dichotomy on duty," Deanna murmured, grabbing his arm for support as the wounded Britannia skittered at her helmsman's touch. Riker lifted his broad shoulders._

_"Apparently by ignoring it," he replied, smothering a smile. "Captain Picard's less correct hailing Geordi than Reed is calling his husband!"_

_His companion treated him to a luminous smile. "If he were personally involved with his Chief Engineer I think Captain Picard would make Malcolm Reed seem positively effusive!")_

"Commander Hollis, organise repair teams. I want a full status report in an hour; and maintain long-range scans. The Romulans may double back if they realise we're hobbling along like a harlot battling broken knicker elastic."

"Er - aye, Captain," Hollis agreed when he could drag his jaw up off the deck plating. Reed grinned.

"Evacuate non-active areas and stand by to divert all available power to the engines on Captain Tucker's order. Ensign Burrows, monitor communications from the flag; we appear to have lost contact with the main battle group. The moment we're in range, inform me."

"Sir?" The dainty blonde spun her chair, eyebrows lost in the thickness of her golden fringe. Malcolm slanted her a half-smile. 

"We do have to rejoin the fleet, Ensign," he said mildly. Then daring them to pass comment, he added an explanation. "I'll be in Engineering. I was once told by a respectable judge that I showed, and I quote _the potential t' be a half-decent grease-monkey if y'd only put yer mind to it_ , unquote. Keep me informed, Mister Hollis."

_("Hurry, Will, before the lift closes," Troi exclaimed, bodily dragging the startled Commander in Reed's wake as he strode, head up and shoulders back, across the compact bridge. "Nobody's going to call him on it."_

_"Having seen Captain Reed in action - would you?")_

He waited until the turbolift was humming into action before allowing his chin to sag onto his chest. Flopped back against the wall, Reed ran a grimy hand through his mussed hair, hissing softly against its offensively disordered state. 

_("He looks beat," Riker sympathised, his heart constricting with the memory of too many post-combat adrenaline collapses. "Somehow I didn't expect it to get to him the way it does me."_

_"The history books do make them out to be almost super-human," Troi agreed, just stopping herself from patting the sagging Englishman's shoulder. "But just watch him jump back to the parade-ground when the doors open!")_

On cue Reed snapped back to full alert, the lines of tiredness smoothing from his face as he stepped into the familiar chaos of post-battle Engineering. Crewmen leapt upright at the sight of him, ready to salute before a kindly "as you were, Mister Barker," or "At ease, Crewman," sent them spinning back to their tools and the nests of tangled and snapped wires in need of smoothing. "Captain Tucker!"

Trip launched himself down from the upper level, landing in the perfect _At Ease_ stance yet unable to conceal the joy that suffused his face at the sight of his solemn and slightly singed spouse. "Thanks for sendin' the extra hands, Cap'n," he said, absently shoving a hand through his hair and coating the dark blond strands with coolant. "You able to lend a hand yourself, Sir? I could use an experienced weapons tech t' unscramble the phase cannon trigger lines."

"You have a volunteer, Captain." Malcolm grinned, snatching up a spare toolkit lying under the nearest console. "But first - what's our engine status? Best and worst case scenarios, please."

"I've got the data in my office, if you've got time to take a look?"

_("He's a better actor than I thought," Troi observed, clasping her small hands together with glee. "He said that with a completely straight face!"_

_"Maybe Malcolm's rubbing off on him," Riker suggested, lengthening his strides to follow the two perfect professionals through into the Chief Engineer's untidy office.)_

They kept a proper distance apart until the door snapped shut. With a low growl, Trip stretched over his partner's shoulder, hitting the locking mechanism before yanking the unresisting Reed into a bone-crunching hug. "Sheesh Mal, ah don't ever wanna go through that again!" he growled, rubbing his cheek against Reed's crown as the smaller man nuzzled contentedly at his throat. "Every time you called on the comm. ah almost hit the top 'f the damn reactor, and then when you weren't callin' ah thought... Promise me darlin' - next time Johnnyboy comes up with an arrangement like this, we tell 'im to _git stuffed._ "

"I'll make an Englishman of you yet, my love." Malcolm stretched up to press an open-mouthed kiss against his husband's strong jaw. "And I've already got the resignation of my active commission stored on file. First chance we get, back to San Francisco and our proper jobs, agreed?"

"I'm way ahead of you, darlin'." He couldn't stop touching the younger man; rubbing a finger along one fine cheekbone, the other arm locked around Reed's slender waist. Trip dipped his head for a long slow kiss, pulling back breathless to grin into his commanding officer's smoky eyes. "Letter's lodged with the Admiral himself. You're not tempted back to deep space by a good fight?"

"Certainly not! I have scraps enough to satisfy my pugnacity with Markham nowadays." Malcolm grimaced at the mention of his boss's name, winning a reluctant chuckle from Trip. "And - ahem! - I've been pondering for a while, love: do you still have that fantasy of a Charles Tucker Mark Four pinching your hyperspanners someday?"

"It's not a priority, darlin'. I've got..." Tucker did a comic double take, his mouth hanging loose while his eyes tightened to narrow slits. "You'd _like_ a baby, Mal? Seriously?"

Reed's shoulders tensed up. Had he not been securely gripped in his amorous spouse's arms he would probably have engineered a smart tactical retreat. "I've been trying to find a way of raising the subject for months," he admitted, spoiling his senior officer pose with a truly schoolboyish hang of the head. "We're settled now: our own home, secure jobs, decent prospects. I - I'm still not sure I'll be a _good_ father, Trip, but with you to guide me... I _do_ want our baby. Maybe we could have a daughter as well in a couple of years?"

"Whoa, one thing at a time, darlin'." Exultation brought a blinding smile to the Southerner's face and he cupped Reed's chin tenderly, holding him steady for another slow, sweet kiss. "I got the details of the best biolab on Earth - wedding present from Phlox, he figured we might need it someday. We'll call 'em as soon as we're back home, okay?"

"I ought to throttle that meddling bloody Denobulan," Malcolm mock-groused, pulling back to arms' length to better admire his husband's blissful face. "He'll probably expect us to give the poor little sod Phlox as a middle name!"

"No way. He's havin' Malcolm and Reed for middle names. I've been planning on that for a while."

"Christ Almighty love, we're supposed to cosset and care for our offspring aren't we?" Malcolm spluttered, trying to nod his gratitude for Trip's sympathetic pound on the back. "Not burden the poor buggers with all four Disaster Twin designations!"

"Okay, maybe we can negotiate on middle names," Tucker agreed placatingly, dropping a kiss on the bridge of his husband's straight nose. "Dammit! Comm!"

"Bridge to Captain Reed." Burrows' high, sweet voice trickled over them like liquid sugar. "We're being hailed by the flagship, Sir. Admiral Archer wants to speak to you immediately."

"Patch him through, Ensign." 

_("I'd have expected him to push Trip away," Troi commented her well-marked black brows lifting as the younger man instead snuggled closer into his husband's hold. Riker snorted._

_"He would if there was a vis," he muttered. "But I know how he feels."_

_Deanna smothered a grin as best she could. "You need a hug after a fight too, Will?"_

_"Just bear that in mind, Dee.")_

Jonathan Archer's voice soared exultantly over a trace of crackling static. "The Romulans are in full retreat: seems they were counting on reinforcements to see them through. Nice shooting, Malcolm!"

"Thank you, Sir." Despite his non-regulation position, Reed's response was by-the-book correct. "But how did you..."

"I realise Lieutenant Santal is good; to be your Armoury Officer he'd have to be," Archer replied as Trip leaned back, gaping in mute horror at his husband. "But good enough to set the targeting scanners at warp 5.9 - congratulate Trip for me, will you? We didn't expect more than 5.8 - and score a direct hit to a Warbird's warp reactor? Sorry, but there's only one man that good."

"Malcolm, you..."

"Hey, Trip." Archer's voice softened. "Guess I can congratulate you myself. I'm right in thinking you're alone?"

"My office." The enormity of his achievement didn't seem to be hitting the engineer. He jabbed his commanding officer's shoulder with a strong, tanned finger. "You did the shootin,, Mistah Reed?"

"Santal caught the backdraught from a power surge through the console." He ought to comm. sickbay and check on his officer, Reed thought, guiltily aware of a duty he dreaded. "You wouldn't trust the big red button to a greenhorn barely out of short trousers, would you?"

"Nobody I'd sooner trust it to than you, Handsome." Trip dropped a kiss onto his crown. "You alright over there, Jon?"

"Federation's taken heavy damage; we've lost the Endeavour, and both Columbia and Intrepid are dead in the water. Including your three kills we've destroyed eight Warbirds and disabled three more."

"A reasonably decisive victory then," Malcolm observed. Jonathan Archer's rich laughter rolled across space.

"Headquarters are already trumpeting it as a new Trafalgar: and yes, I realise - there's a big difference."

"Mercifully, Sir."

It took Trip a moment to catch his husband's grim meaning. "You watch your step in those dark corridors, Johnnyboy," he growled, hugging Malcolm closer. "We don't wanna go losin' the hero of the hour to a dumb accident, okay?"

"Unlike Admiral Nelson, I figure I'm going to be sharing any credit going around." The older man's voice deepened, causing both his friends to stare hard at the comm. panel. "You took a ship to 5.9, Trip; Malcolm, your sharp-shooting with weapons you pretty much designed took out three heavily-armed warships in a single volley. Figure they'll be changing that old song, because Britannia sure seems to rule the stars about now."

_("They're shocked," Troi whispered, materialising out of the shadows behind Trip's desk to observe their stricken expressions more closely. "It really didn't occur to them they'd be lauded as much as Archer for their actions."_

_"I always got the feeling their heroic status didn't sit easy with them," Riker observed. She nodded.)_

"We're lucky they were flying formation, Sir." Reed bit hard into his bottom lip, fascinating eyes growing dark. "No sign of the stragglers heading our way?"

"They've scattered: and I figure your ship is one they'll be trying to avoid for a while." Archer was grinning broadly; anyone who knew him would be aware of it from his satisfied tones. "Can I expect a second resignation of commission to reach my computer before 2400, Captain Reed?"

"It'll be with you as soon as I have my ship back with the fleet, Admiral. I expect Captain Tucker's will be activated at the same time?"

"That's the instruction I was given," Archer agreed amiably. Malcolm tightened his hold on his husband's waist. 

"Thank you, love," he murmured, pushed onto his toes to plant a kiss against the taller man's cheek. Trip grinned crookedly.

"Gotta do our duty 'til we know our folks are safe, Mal," he said quietly. Then, more loudly, "Hey, Jon, how d' you feel about bein' a godfather someday soon? Me and Malcolm - we're thinkin' about starting that family and you know y' always promised to stand for Charles Tucker the Fourth."

Dead silence, followed by a soft thud. "Admiral?" Malcolm questioned worriedly. "Bloody hell Tucker, if you've just caused a three-star heart attack in the moment of victory..."

"I'm all right, Malcolm; just wishing I could see your face right now.!"

_("He sure missed a picture," Riker whispered, fascinated by the battle of embarrassment, amusement, exasperation and pride playing out over the Englishman's finely-chiselled features. "He's not sure whether to kiss Trip or deck him!")_

"Does that mean you're agreeing to be godfather?" Reed asked mildly. Jonathan Archer's unreserved laughter filled the small room.

"As if I could refuse! Hell, the might of the Romulan Empire can't stand against the combination of Tucker and Reed! What chance do I have? I'll be honoured to be your son's godfather, gentlemen; but I'd recommend waiting until the excitement on Earth dies down before trying to make any discreet calls to biolabs."

"Jonathan." The exquisite tone of long-suffering patience in Malcolm Reed's voice would fool nobody who could see his bright-eyed, smiling face. "You of all people know the word _discreet_ never entered the Tucker vocabulary. We'll be calling as soon as we get home. After all, the brass-hats won't compel the parents of a small child into space, will they?"


	11. Epilogue - Session Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final glimpse back from the 24th century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who has stuck with me to the end!

"Gaudy, tasteless bloody pile, if you ask me."

"Ac'shlly darlin' ah don't remember anybody did."

_("They haven't changed as much as you'd expect," Deanna breathed, following the two bickering elderly men in full dress uniform at a slow march through the storey-high steel and glass double doors of the Jonathan Archer Memorial Conference Centre. "Trip's a little stooped of course; the lines are deeper and they're both a lot greyer, but you'd still recognise them immediately."_

_Riker nodded, inching closer into their wake to catch the Englishman's peeved reply.)_

"Well it's a great pity nobody did. The Admiral would be mortified to have his name associated with such a ghastly palace of over-gilded tat." Reed pursed his thin lips, daring his husband to disagree. "Not to mention the planets."

"I think it's a fine thing to remember a great explorer by." Trip was snowy white against the smaller man's steely grey, his slight stoop bringing him closer to Malcolm's height. He laid a wrinkled hand marked with age-spots and a trace of engine grease onto the Englishman's shoulder. "And Jon woulda loved the meaning of today. There was nothing he liked better than seein' the Federation advance."

"I miss him too, love." Reed stopped their slow amble, turning to smile tenderly at Trip's downturned mouth and hooded eyes. "I'dd be grumbling less if they'd only managed to create a monument that did him justice!"

"And that if he was still here, the Cap'n of old NX-01'd get all the attention they're tossin' our way." Infinitely gentle, Trip ran a fingertip across the still-sharp line of Malcolm's cheekbone, his husband swaying happily into the familiar touch. 

"There is that," he conceded, letting his eyes drift shut. "Which part of _retired_ Admirals do these halfwits not understand?"

"Semi-retired, darlin'. That damn lab still calls three times a week t' ask for Admiral Reed's expert opinion." Trip stuck out his bottom lip in a playful imitation of his spouse's pout. Reed patted his arm.

"Oh, and of course the Warp 8 Project team never trouble Admiral Tucker (retired)."

"Malcolm, dontcha ever git tired of bickering with me?"

"Not at all; keeps my wits sharp." Malcolm stretched up to plant a kiss on the sagging chin, casting a smirk toward the younger officers milling around them. "We've survived almost sixty years together: we must be doing something right."

"Guess so. Hell, Travis would've lost a few bets over the years, trying to figure exactly when the most dangerous man in Starfleet'd snap."

"He never did let me live that down, did he?" Reed's mischievous expression sobered. Trip leaned in to give him a hug that made their ageing bones creak. 

"Darlin' I'm sorry; I know it's not been long, but Travis would've hated to see us grieving."

"A sodding transporter accident of all things." Reed allowed himself to be steered into the shadow of a fat Corinthian column, one of twenty that lined each side of the auditorium's gigantic marble entrance hall. "Nobody thinks a thing of having their molecules scrambled these days, and - pouf! Nothing left but a singed piece of cloth and a handful of organic material. He didn't deserve to go like that."

"I know, darlin'. I know."

_("Captain Mayweather's accident happened a few months before the treaty was signed, didn't it?" Deanna murmured, clutching his hand. "Reed felt things much more deeply than the authorised history gives him credit for."_

_"I guess Tucker wouldn't have loved him so desperately if he'd been all pragmatism," Riker pointed out. "And they're still devoted; can't stop touching each other, even on public display!"_

_"After sixty years I think they'd earned the right to be as demonstrative as they liked.")_

"Travis would've enjoyed today too - maybe even more than Jon," the Southerner continued softly. "You can't blame Command for wantin' us around even if it is as some kinda _living history exhibit_ as you call it. We're the last of the Enterprise command team, and without Enterprise, there might not be a Federation at all."

"I know." The puppyish eagerness, the innate optimism that had first drawn a shy English ordinance officer to the boisterous Chief Engineer was undimmed by the decades, and Malcolm Reed was still in its thrall. "And I'm proud to have been a part of all that. It's just..."

"You always did shy away from the spotlight, however much you deserve it." One dark grey lock had fallen over Reed's broad, creased brow. Gently Tucker swept it back, taking the opportunity to run his fingers all the way through hair still thick and lustrous where his own had thinned. "But there's ten new worlds joining the alliance today, and if Johnny can't be here to witness it, we've gotta do it for him."

"Sorry." Malcolm squared his shoulders, ignoring the fond smile that drifted over his husband's face at the familiar gesture.

_("Starfleet Officer Reed getting ready to do his duty," Will Riker murmured, a shadow of Tucker's affection warming the words. Deanna chuckled.)_

"Better we represent him than some glory-hunting arse-licker of a politico who thinks repeating _Jonathan Archer_ a dozen times in each speech makes him the protector of his legacy."

"Jon would've wanted us to be here; Travis, Hoshi, and T'Pol as well. Hey, even the kids want us around!"

"God knows why. The last thing _I_ wanted as an officer was my old man looking over my shoulder!" 

_("Now he's Malcolm again," Troi murmured, watching Trip clap his husband on the shoulder; an oddly comradely gesture for a pair she knew instinctively had been no less Imzadi than she and Will.)_

"The few times your daddy came near Starfleet you set out a security detail to track his every move," the taller man drawled, winning a rueful chuckle. "I like to think we've got a better understanding with Charlie, Lissa and Jamie than you an' that poker-assed stuffed shirt of a fisherman ever had."

"I can't believe James is old enough to be a Chief Tactical Officer, and there's his son graduated from the Academy." Malcolm shook his head as if he might shake the years away. "Strange: we bred two fine Armoury men and a Chief Medical Officer; whatever happened to that miniature engineer you were hoping for?"

"They chose their own paths, darlin'; that was all I wanted for any of them." Trip's whole expression softened suddenly. Careful not to jar their elderly spines, he cradled his life's partner in a loving embrace, regarding him intently, as if he was trying to memorise each dear feature. "You know, Mal, we're so damn lucky to have found each other!"

"I know, love." If the stern and straight-laced Admiral Reed cared that the assembled dignitaries of fifteen worlds were passing by beyond the circle of his husband's arms he gave no sign of showing it. The fine lines of strain which had been deepening time's creases around his eyes melted and he brought his own arms up to link around Admiral Tucker's still-trim waist. 

_("Will, have you ever seen anything more romantic?" Deanna sighed, nestling into his side. Silently, Riker draped an arm over her shoulders.)_

"Granddad? Grandpa?"

"Hey, Malcolm." Trip glanced up, his smile widening uncontrollably as the owner of a perfectly-modulated English accent approached, an unmistakable half-grin twisting one side of his mouth. "Folks gettin' impatient to see the old fogies hobblin' in?"

"Mum's on the brink of a nervous breakdown, if that counts." Malcolm Reed the Second had been aptly named: from the luxuriant dark brown hair, light eyes and high cheekbones down, he was the image of his namesake in youth. Both his grandfathers beamed as he strode against the traffic's stream toward them.

_("James Reed married an Englishwoman, didn't he?" Riker whispered. Troi nodded._

_"Sarah - Robertson, Robinson?" she queried. "I bet Malcolm the elder loved having a grandson who sounded as British as he still does!")_

"Uncle Charlie's stopping the President sending out search parties and Aunt Melissa's keeping the Betazoid delegation occupied, but there are two seats empty in the VIP box," the young man observed, wetting his lips. "I realise rank hath its privileges..."

"Retired rank hath extra." Malcolm the elder slithered free with a flexibility remarkable in a man of ninety-plus. "Come on, love; I don't mind the President fretting, but we can't have Sarah and the children worrying because we're woolgathering again."

"You, Granddad?" Identical fine-marked eyebrows, one chocolate brown, the other charcoal grey, lifted. "Gramps I can believe..."

"Don't go gittin' cheeky just because you've got the name for it, boy," Trip growled, stretching to ruffle the young man's hair. Laughing, his grandson swayed back out of reach. "Damn tactical stream," the Southerner called after his retreating figure. "That boy gets more like you by the year, Mal."

"And Charles the Fifth - sounds like an English monarch - is nothing at all like you, of course you bloody irritating Yank." With a roll of the eyes, Malcolm slipped his hand into the crook of his partner's arm, gently steering him out into the echoing body of the hall. "I suppose we really ought to make our grand entrance now."

"Sooner we're in, the sooner we get out again." Trip stooped a little further, rubbing his cheek like a satisfied cat against the other man's crown. "Love you, Admiral Reed."

"Love you too, Admiral Tucker." Undimmed by the years Reed's brilliant, adoring smile broke free to meet Tucker's tender one. Gazing into each other's eyes, they reached the vaulted, carved entrance to the red velvet VIP seating area, a burst of applause signalling their appearance before the three thousand invited guests.

"Computer, freeze program!"

Deanna Troi clutched her throat theatrically, trying to joke past the start her neighbour's hoarse command had given her. "It's just as well they're long-dead, Will," she said sternly, her façade crumbling under his innocent blue stare. "You wouldn't want to go down in history as the Commander who gave two of the most decorated officers in Starfleet cardiac arrests!"

"Figure they were both tough enough to take a few raised voices." She was approaching the petrified figures warily, as if she still expected Malcolm Reed's aged hologram to spring into action. "Quite a couple, weren't they?"

"Even more so than I imagined." Troi placed herself directly in front of them, shifting her glowing obsidian gaze from one to the other, then back. "I can see why they were able to pilot a whole starship through the non-fraternisation regs, Will! Betazoid same-sex relationships are incredibly rare and the Imzadi bond isn't recognised between the few who do exist, but it must have been obvious to Ambassador Marana and her team that those two embodied the concept of the bond. I'm so glad we've had the chance to meet them!"

"Yeah." Both men had been high in the pantheon of William Riker's childhood heroes; the exuberant engineer and the quietly dedicated security chief of Earth's first great space exploration vessel. He had read everything he could about them, their legendary captain and their incredible mission. 

None of it had done them justice. "I guess you have to be that special to defy the 'fleet," he muttered, realisation hitting in like a blow to the gut. "Married officers are still like hen's teeth, and maybe now I understand why."

"Oh, Will." He was too downcast to realise he'd just admitted the secret purpose behind their extended history lesson, and Deanna loved him all the more for it. "Perhaps you just have to love each other enough to say: we're a team, and if you don't like it..."

He felt his mouth turn upward as if it were magnetised by the curl of hers. Together, they quoted Trip Tucker's Floridian drawl on Malcolm Reed's utterly English expression of defiance.

"Git stuffed!"

Laughing, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, they headed for the 24th Century, pausing to cast a long, gratified look back at its representation of the past. "Thank you, Admirals," Deanna whispered, moisture tickling the back of her eyes as their images shimmered away. "Thank you for showing us what love makes possible! Dinner tonight, Will? My quarters, 2000?"


End file.
